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Ta'Tien utile cjidd-sit 
Prospiciuut aliqp.ando. 

Juv. Sat. 6, lin. 31<J. 

Docti rationem artis intelli^niU, iiidocU, voUiplatem. 

Quint, lib, ix. i. 





At the Union Printing-Offlce, St. John's Square, hw JV. J'ilsGTi. 













11 Parmegiano. 

John Brueghel. 




M. Prior. 





Gasper de Grayer. * 


Sir Francis Drake. 



Francesco Flamand. 







Jacob Jordaens 









The Passage of the Granicus - - - - Le Brun. 

The Famiiy of Darius - . - , , Ditto. 

St. Genevieve des Arde;is ----- Doyen. 

Jesus on the Mount of Olives - - - _ C.Dolce. 
Belisariiis -------- Gerard. 

Offering of Esculapius - • - - _ Guerin. 

The Plague at Jaffa ------ M. Gros. 

The Sacrifice of Abraham ----- Holbein. 

Buonaparte ------- Lefebvre. 

The Death of Hannibal - ■»• - - - Le Mire. 
The Punishment of a Vestal • - - - Peytavin. 

The Witch of Endor Salvator Rosa. 

A Scene of the Deluge ----- Regnault. 

The Three Graces --.--- Ditto. 
The Confirmation of Peace - - - - - Ruljens. 
Christ dead on the knees of the Virgin - - Ditto. 

The Descent from the Cross , - _ - Ditto. 
The Visitation ---,..--- Ditto. 
The Angel, Raphael and Tobit ^ - - - Ditto. 
The Decollation of St. John ^ - - . Ditto. 

The Holy Family Ditto. 

Venus presenting Love to Jupiter - - - Le Sueur. 

Resurrection of Raymond ----- Ditto. 

Victor HI. confirming the order of the Chartreux - Ditto. 

The Martyrdom of Sl. Lawrence - - - - Titian. 

The Death of Cleopatra - - - - - A Veronese. 

William Tell Vincent. 

The Seizure of the President M0I6 - - - Ditto. 

David, Conqueror of Goliath - - - - D. di Volterra. 



Epicurus, ^Metrodoriis, Adrian, ccc. - - - Antique Btjs1 

Cardinal Alazarin ------ Coysevox. 

Venus -- ------ Co'jstou. 

Monument of Cardi::ia] Richelieu . - - Girardon. 

Scipio Africanus ------- Ramey. 

Homer chantinj; his Poems - - - - Roland. 




The two first heads have been wrotight from a single 
"block of marble. That which interests the reader to the 
left is the portrait of Epicurus, chief of a sect of philoso- 
phers, no less famous among the ancients than the 
moderns. They pretended that happiness consisted in 
.Voluptuousness ; but this pleasure, in their opinion, was 
no other thing than virtue. We are not to reproach 
them for the eccentricities of some of their sectarists. 
Epicurus was laborious and frugal. He was born in a 
village of Attica, in the year 342 B. C. and died at the 
age of seventy-two, completely worn out by fatigue. He 
composed a variety of philosophical treatises, the most 
part of which are lost. It is from his works that Lu- 
cretius collected opinions which he decorated with all 
the charms of poetry. 

The adjoining head is that of Metrodorus. There 
were two personages of that name who enjoyed a degree 
of celebrity. One, a poet and philosopher, was sent by 
the Athenians to Paulus Emilius, who required an artist 
to represent his triumph over Persia, and a scholar to 
educate his children : the other, Metrodorus, was a physi- 
cian of Chio, a disciple of Democritus, and master of 
Hippocrates — he Uved about the year 444 B. C. It is 
very probable that this was the Metrodorus whose por- 


trait they were desirous of annexing to that of Epicurus, 
from the similarity of their philosophical principles. 
These two heads, in marble, exhibit much character, ex- 
cessive labour, and are in the finest state of preservation. 

The head placed under these, upon the left, is colossal. 
The personage it represents is unknown. 

The fourth bust, that of Adrian, is a most estimable 
piece of sculpture. To the most noble and dignified 
character it unites exquisite workmanship, even to the 
execution of the hair and beard. This head was found, 
towards the beginning of the eighteenth century, in the 
Castle of St. Angelo, which, it is well known, was destined 
to receive the remains of the emperor Adrian, under the 
name de Moles Adriana, This bust formed a part of the 
Vatican Collection. 


laiiauL Iv Wirisdr. 

london:BiilL'^Tied1>vTemcT JSaoa.Jt Sharp e.:^oidDyD>'rTi ifloH. 


Albano, one of the most enlightened scholars of the 
Caracci, the fellow student of Domenichino, Guido, and 
Guerchino, enjoyed an advantage which those celebrated 
artists did not possess. He was the favourite of the 
poets; who gave him the title of " Painter of the Graces," 
and attached to his name the idea of elegance and deli- 
cacy, united to voluptuousness. Albano merited this 
species of celebrity. He principally excelled in painting 
women and children. He understood design well; his 
colouring was fresh, his carnations of a sanguine tint, and 
he finished his work with great neatness of pencil. The 
style of his landscapes is very agreeable, and his compo- 
sitions, in general, although but little varied, are full of 
poetry ; and are distinguished by ingenious ideas solely 
his own. 

Francesco Albano was born at Bologna, in L57S. 
On the death of his father, an opulent merchant, 
who opposed his inclination for painting, he entered 
into the school of Calvart, and afterwards into that of 
the Caracci. He there formed an intimacy with Guido, 
whose advice was highly beneficial; but, being jealous 
of each other, their friendship was of short continuance. 
Albano, having made considerable progress in his art, 
went to Rome, where he enjoyed, after a time, the most 
briUiant reputation. Seated nov>^ in prosperity, he was 
not unmindful of a friend, \Ybom he left at Bologna, in 
great distress. This was Domenichino, whom he invited to 


Rome, lodged him for two ^^ears in his house, divided with 
him his fortune, and defended liim from the persecution 
of his rivals. This sincrle trait affords a jjreat idea of the 
personal qualities of Aibano. The miWoess of his dispo- 
sition, his disinterestedness, and his magnanimity, merit 
the most general consideration. His works hear ample 
testimony of the purity of his manners : in his most vo- 
luptuous scenes there is nothing offensive to tiie Miost 
rigid modest}'. 

Aibano, while at R-ome, married a woman of consi- 
derable fortune, whom he had soon the misfortune to 
lose. Invited by his relations to return to Bologna, lie 
contracted a second marriage, even more advantageous 
than the first. His wife pos&esscd uncommon beauty, 
and brought him several children. It may be said that 
nature was pleased to surround him with the most perfect 
models. He often retired to his country seat, most de- 
liciously situated ; where, notwithstanding his celebrity, 
and the envy of his rivals, he enjoyed the greatest feli- 
city : but his happiness was in the end destroyed. One 
of his brothers, to whom he had entrusted the mannge- 
ment of his fortune, abused his confidence, dissipated hif^ 
money, and reduced Aibano to a state of ittdi^eoce. lie 
died in the year ]6fiO, ai the age of S2, 

Fngraved h funne Ciokf 

L-yndcn^hiMLiifti lyyVernor, Tlood <.(■ Sli. ■ 


'Anacreon was a native of Teos, a cit}^, and mari- 
time port, of Ionia. He was born in the seventy-second 
olympiad, according to the father of Mad. Bacier; in the 
sixty-second, according to Eusebius ; and in the fifty- 
second, in the opinion of Suidas. His mother was called 
^tia ; but the real name of his father is unknown. He 
is believed to have been related to Solon ; and, in habits 
of intimacy, with Codrus. Anacreon, at an early age, 
was sent to Mycak, where a fete Avas celebrated in honour 
of Neptune. He appeared there crowned with a wreath 
of flowers, somewhat elated with wine: and Maximus 
of Tyre relates, that in dancing he upset a nurse with 
her infant: this child was Cleobules, with whom, in his 
riper years, he contracted the strongest friendship. 

At that time Polycrates reigned at Samos ; who, desi- 
rous of possessing Anacreon, invited him thither, received 
bitn with the greatest distinction, and commenced his 
liberality, by making him a present of 40,0001. of our 
money. But Anacreon was unable to sleep, from the 
moment that that sum was conveyed to him, and, at the 
end of two days, he hastened to return it to Polyciates. 
He was, however, recompenced by rewards of another 
species : and it is said, by degrees, that the society of 
Anacreon rendered his patron less haughty, and more hu- 
mane. Soon after, the poet yielded to the intreaties of 
Hipparchus, and went to Athens, where he remained 
several years. 

ANACREON. [ionia. 

Anacreon left Athens upon the massacre of Hippar- 
chus, by Harmonius and Aristogiton ; and, at the age 
of 44, returned to Ionia, and resided without the gates of 
Abdera, in a small country-house, which was his chief 
delight. He there cultivated his flow^er-garden, pre- 
sided over his vintage, and, glass in hand, seated at hjs 
table, with his friends, celebrated the divinity who ripened 
Tiis grapes. Hatred and jealousy, avarice and ambition, 
revenge and calumny, were alike strangers to him ; and, 
if the fire of his eyes developed his constitution, the can^ 
dour of his physiognomy announced that no painful sen- 
sations ever disturbed the serenity of his mind. 

The predecessor of Pindar, and of Eschylus, of So:- 
phocles and Euripides, Anacreon, lived a long time after 
Homer. The epic bard sang the praise of heroes and 
of gods. Anacreon has celebrated only love and plear- 
sure ; but his verses bear the spirit of morality. He 
recommends to females a porlion of instruction, and an 
excess of modesty. He says to men, that the swiftness 
of time enjoins them to reflect frequently upon death : 
that tranquil pleasures lead to happiness; and that the 
bliss of life is imbittered by unruly passions. Sixty of 
his odes have survived the revolution of ages, and fallen 
into our hands: from us they will descend to the latest 
posterity, and in all times bo studied and admired. 

In his latter years Anacreon lived upon dried grapes; 
and was suffocated, it is said, at the age of 85, by a stone 
stopping in his throat. His funeral was highly magnifi- 
cent ; and the inhabitants of Tcos erected a statue to his 
memory : a second was raised in the centre of the cit?idel 
in Athens, beside those of Pericles and Xantippus, it 
was to be seen in the days of Pausanias. 

1 — 

BAHB2BriE.JLIL.2. 1 


^"eh^VeLTiombo, pinxit 

George Cooke sadpt 

London. FtiiUs'hd iyVerrwr Hood Jt S}uirpe,Pou2xry, 


Baccio Bandinelli, the son of Michael Agnolo, 
bom at Florence, in 1487, was, it is said, descended from 
an illustrious family, originally of Sienna. His father 
was a goldsmith, highly distinguished in his profession. 
Baccio, inheriting the most happy dispositions, gave, at 
an early age, proofs of extraordinary talents. 

He entered in the school of John Francis Rustici, an 
eminent sculptor, where he formed an acquaintance with 
Leonardo da Vinci, the friend of his master, and profited 
greatly by the counsels of that distinguished painter. A 
group in marble,^ representing Hercules conquering Cacus, 
was the first work of Baccio,^ and established his reputa- 
tion. But his envious and jealous temper rendered him 
the enemy of all his rivals : he incessantly condemned 
their productions, esteeming only his own performances ; 
and evinced towards Michael Angelo, to whom he 
conceived himself at least equal, the most implacable 
hatred. After having copied, with infinite pains and 
much advantage, the figures of a cartoon, composed by 
that great master for the hall of the council chamber at 
Florence, he clandestinely tore it into pieces. 

Desirous of wealth, presumptuous, and malicious, he 
tarnished the brilliancy of his surprising talents by the 
depravity of his character. His life is a tissue of in- 
trigues, and of projects abandoned by fickleness or neg- 
lect. He undertook, for the ^iedici and other noblemen, 
a multitude of works, which he left for the most part im- 



perfect. Among those that he finished, and which pro- 
cured him considerable eulogium, may be reckoned a 
Mercury, a St. Jerom, an Orpheus, a St. Peter, the FlageU 
lation of Christ, the statue of the Duke Cosmo, and the 
finest copy extant of the Laocoon. A Dead Christ was 
his last production. The works he had only sketched 
were completed by different artists. 

Baccio died in the year 1559, at the age of seventy-two, 
leaving an immense fortune to his children. His body 
was placed in a tomb he had constructed and ornamented 
with several figures in marble. 

Bandinelli possessed a fertile genius, a great exuberance 
of fancy, and was a correct and spirited designer. After 
Michael Angelo, he was the greatest sculptor of his time. 
He was but an indifferent architect ; and, as a painter, is 
only known by his miscarriages in that art. Nature had 
refused him an eye for colour, and perseverance to acquire 
execution and handling. 

O-ecrae. CooTce, sculp- 

L ,mdr-n:hihUsh\l In' Verrwr,E,n^H. k Sharpe.Foultn' . Oct.:i.l8o8. 


BiiAMANTE Lazari D'Urbino, was bom ill 1444, in 
a little spot not much known in that duchy, some say^ 
Castel Durante, others, Fermignano, His family was poor. 
He was taught to draw and to paint, but his taste inclined 
him to architecture; he studied at first in Lombardy 
the construction of the celebrated cathedral of Milan; 
and set out for Rome, where he painted some pictures, 
which are become very scarce. The Museum Napoleon 
possesses but one, which came from the collection of 
Turin; it is a Descent from the Cross, in which we re- 
mark great beauty of expression, good colouring, but 
little correctness of design. 

Bramante studied deeply the antique monuments in 
Rome ; he particularly measured the remains of the Villa 
Adriana, at Tivoli ; and afterwards made a journey to 
Naples, to view the numerous ruins of Pausihppo, Puz- 
zuoli Baya, Kc. which were then in better preservation 
than at present. He returned to Rome, where there was not 
as yet any celebrated architect, and was one of the first 
who introduced the taste for ancient architecture, of 
which he was an admirer. He began by rebuilding the 
cloister of the Fathers of Peace, by order of Cardinal 
Oliver CarafFa. He afterwards erected the Fountain of 
Transtevere, and that of the ancient Piazza de San Pietro, 
at the desire of Pope Alexander VI. His reputation was 
immediately established by these inconsiderable works. 
He afterwards took a part in building the palace of 
the Chancery, the church of St. Lorenzo at Damazo, of 



the palace Geraldi in the Piazza de St. Giacomo, of the 
palace Sora, and of several others. 

Julius II. required of him a plan for uniting the palaces 
of the Belvedere and the Vatican. Bramante, whose 
ideas were enlarged by admiring the baths of the Em- 
perors, and the Villa Adriana, added an immense court, 
a kind of circus, at the extremity of which he placed 
that vast niche, the effect of which is still so astonishing, 
although it has been since altered by demolitions and ad- 
ditions, prejudicial to the whole. He had contrived se- 
veral porticos and steps, disposed in the manner of an am- 
phitheatre, to enjoy the different spectacles, for the re- 
presentation of which the place was so well adapted. 

The activity of Bramante accorded perfectly with the 
celerity which Juhus II. required, in the works with 
which he was entrusted at the Vatican and other places. 
This artist accompanied the pope on his journey to Bo- 
logna, and performed the duty of engineer in the war of 
Mirandola. He began a vast palace on the borders of 
the Tyber, on the side of St. Marc. This edifice was 
never finished, and at this day scarcely any traces of it 

Architects go to visit with a kind of veneration 
th^ little round temple of St. Pietro, in Montorio, 
erected by Bramante, which is considered as the first 
monument of the revival of the art. He also built the 
palace, which afterwards belonged to the first of painters, 
Raphael d'Urbino. This palace, built entirely of brick, 
even the columns, by a mode similar to that of the an- 
cients, in w^orks of that kind, was demolished, in order to 
eifCGt the colonnade of Bernini. Bramante gave Julius II. 


among other plans, the magnificent one for the total re^ 
building of St. Peter's ; the foundations of which he 
laid in 1513, and which was raised up to the cornice be- 
fore the death of the pope, and that of Bramante. This 
great artist, no less ino:enious as a builder than able as a 
projector, cast his arches in stucco, in pieces, on centers 
in w'hich their compartments were formed with all their 
ornaments, and by this means executed them with rapi- 
dity, and as it were all in one piece. He studied the 
construction of the intended dome of St. Peter, in that 
whicli he built adjoining the city of Todi ; but death 
snatched him too soon from his labours, and his succes- 
sors did not sufficiently respect his projects. His plan 
fully proves, that far from improving on his work they 
greatly diminished its beauties. 

The Chartreuse of Pavia, of which Bramante gave the 
drawings, and directed all the details with admirable art, 
is one of the finest monuments of his taste and genius ; 
the whole is elegant, noble, and picturesque, and we find 
in every part of it, a delicacy of thought, and an ele 
gance of execution, which seduce and attach us to 
those objects, which the eye always views with increased 

If we enquire into the cause of the eminent merit which 
distinguishes Bramante as one of the revivers of archi- 
tecture, we shall find it consists in an extraordinary com- 
bination of talents and information ; for he was at once 
an extempore poet, painter, and an architect. A collec- 
tion of his poems was published at Milan, in 1756. The 
sentiments of Bramante were as noble and elevated as 
his genius was fertile. We should not forget, that it was 
he w^ho brought to Home, aad for some time maintained 

BRAMANTE. [italy. 

there his pupil in architecture, Raphael. That great 
painter, from motives of gratitude, placed the portrait of 
Bramante in his master-piece of the School of Athens, 

This great artist died at Rome, at the age of seventy, 
and was buried in St. Peter's ; his funeral was magnifi- 
cent, it being attended by the grandees of the pope's 
court, and by all those who cultivated and honoured the 
:fine arts. 

Enarav'd. ty C~ - 

<'hM-pe .Poultry 


Jean Baptiste Britard, called Brizard, was born 
at Orleans; on the 7th of April, 1721, of parents in com- 
fortable circumstances, whom he had the misfortune to 
lose when only ten years of age. He was then brought 
to Paris, and placed in the family of his mother, where 
he received his education. He displayed, very early, a 
disposition for painting ; and becoming intimate with 
the celebrated Carlo Vanloo, he made such rapid pro- 
gress in the art, that at fifteen he found himself able to 
enter into competition for the great prize. Some parti- 
cular circumstances led him, liowever, to the stage, on 
which he ran a distinsruished career. He made his debut 
at a provincial theatre, and remained for some time in the 
country, performing the principal tragic characters. At 
length, flattered by the commendation of Mad"". Clairon 
and Dumesnil, who were capable of judging of his ta- 
lents, and further incited by a message from the king, 
he determined to quit Lyons, and return to Paris. 

Brizard was endowed with extreme sensibility. He 
possessed all the qualifications of his art. When he be- 
came animated, his acting was sublime. He was as 
much indebted to the dignity of his figure, and the 
beauty of his hair, as to the warmtn of his imagination for 
his fame as an actor. Having one day narrowly escaped 
being drowned, in consequence of a boat in which he 
was seated being carried under the bridge of Saint Esprit 
by tne rapidity of the waters of the Rhone, he was so 
greatly terrified, that the next morning he perceived that 


his liair had become entirely white. From that moment 
he relinquished the parts of yoimg princes, to undertake 
those of king and father, in which he became inimitable. 

On the evening of his retiring from the theatre, a per- 
son of very considerable merit went into his box, with 
his son, and, presenting him to Brizard, exclaimed, Em- 
brassez Monsieur: cent aujourd'hui que nous perdons un 
homme dont les vertus ont surpasse les talens. 

Brizard was taken from society, and from his friends, 
on the 30th of January, 1790. The French theatre, in 
compliment to his memory, closed the theatre on the 
day of his funeral. His epitaph was written, by his 
friend M. Ducis, in a most affecting style. 

FaxnUd Iv V,mdvcl 

Eni^rm''d by Peoiye iocn 

vPublism Iv Vanor.Ecoi & Sfmrpe.l'ouitry. SepVi-iSoB. 


There have been three painters of the name of 
Brueghel. Peter, called the Old; Peter Petersz, his 
son ; and John, surnamed Velvet Brueghel, on account 
of his dress, which was always of rich velvet. 

Historians by no means accord as to the time of the 
birth of Old Brueghel. They equally disagree about the 
period of his death, and even of the real name of that 
painter. He took the name of Brueghel from a village 
near Breda, at which he was born, about the year 1510. 
After having studied at Antwerp, under Peter Cock, or 
Koue, he travelled into France and Italy, from whence 
he returned to Antwerp, where he remained some years. 
He afterwards established himself at Brussels, where he 
married his master's daughter ; and died in the latter city, 
according to Pilkington, in 1570. The greater part of 
his pictures are upon historical subjects, and are remark- 
able for expression, correctness of design, and richness 
of landscape. 

Peter Brueghel, the son, who was very young when 
he lost his father, became the pupil of Gilles Coningsloe. 
He also travelled into Italy, and delighted in describing 
massacres, towns on fire, and devils. He returned to 
Flanders with a degree of reputation ; but his works are 
less esteemed than those of Old Brueghel. 

John, the son of Old Brueghel, the most celebrated 
of the three, was taught the principles of painting by his 


JOHN BRUEGHEL. [flanders. 

father, and afterwards studied under Peter Goekendt, 
whom he left to go to Cologne. Occupied solely in 
painting flowers, fruits, and landscapes, he acquired an 
extraordinary facility in his art. Anxious to revisit Rome, 
where the fame of his talents had preceded him, he there 
produced several estimable works. He obtained the same 
success at Milan, and returned to Flanders, where he 
painted flowers in garlands, and landscapes, in which Ru- 
bens, and other eminent masters, inserted the figures. 
At other times he was employed by Steenwyck, Mom- 
pert, Rothenamer, and Vanbalen, to adorn their pictures 
with historical scenes, which now add abundantly to the 
value of their works. Houbraken takes notice of a pic- 
ture by Brueghel, and speaks of it in the highest terms 
of praise, as being the admiration of every beholder. So 
great is the variety of fruits, flowers, and trees, on the 
foreground, that the eye is perfectly bewildered ; and 
although the proportions of the objects are but of small 
size, in comparison with nature, they appear like nature 
itself. The figures in it are Vertumnus and Pomona, 
and were painted by Rubens. The pictures of Brueghel 
are in general small, with a number of figures suprisingly 
exact, and correctly drawn ; and the carriages, which he 
was fond of introducing in his landscapes, are admirably 
represented. He was born, as the chronological tables 
assert, about the year 1560, and died in 1625. 

Painted iv Vandvck. 

Enaravd by Peorae Cboke. 

London: Puilij.-hxL byVemor.Hood He Sharp e.PcaUjy, SepTiadod- 


James Callot, designer, engraver, and painter, was 
born at Nantz, in 1593. His passion for the arts having 
induced him to quit his father's dweUing, wlio destined 
him for another profession, he set out clandestinely for 
Italy ; and, being deprived of necessaries, was compelled 
for a subsistence during his journey, to attach himself to 
a troop of Gypsies. On his arrival at Florence, he 
was noticed by an officer in the service of the Grand 
Duke, who placed him with Can La Galliua, where he 
copied the works of the most distinguished painters. 
Being recognised by some merchants belonging to Nantz, 
during his journey to Rome, he was conducted back to 
his father's house. From thence he a second time 
escaped, and was again led home by his brother ; when 
he at length obtained the consent of his friends to return 
to Italy. After having studied drawing some time, under 
Julius Parigi, he devoted himself to the practice of en- 
graving, under Philip Romassin. Passing through Flo- 
rence, he was presented to the Grand Duke, Cosmo II. 
the protector of the fine arts, who attached him to his 
person ; after the death of that Prince he returned to his 
native country, were he was very favourably received by 
Henry Duke of Lorrain, who settled a considerable pen- 
sion upon him. 

His reputation being soon after spread all over Europe, 
the Infanta of the Netherlands drew him to Brussels, 
where he engraved the Siege of Breda. Louis XIII. 
made him design the Siege of Rochelle, and that of the 


Isle of Rhe. The French king having taken Nantz in 
1601, made Callot the proposal of representing that new 
conquest, as he had already done the taking of Rochelle ; 
but Callot begged to be excused ; and some courtiers re- 
solving to oblige him to do it, he answered, " that he 
would sooner cut off his thumb than do any thing against 
the honour of his prince and country." This excuse the 
king accepted, and said the Duke of Lorrain was happy 
in having such faithful and affectionate subjects. Callot 
followed his business so closely, that, though he died at 
43 years of age, he is said to have left about 1500 pieces. 

The following are a few of the principal : — The Murder 
of the Innocents The Marriage vf Canuy from Veronese — 
The Passion of Christ — The Temptation of St. Anthony — 
The great Fair of Florence — The Garden of Nantz — St. 
John in the Isle of Patmos — Viezo of the Pont Neuf—^ 
View of the Louvre, and some Landscapes. 

<-!hicn:FiihUsheA bv Temor. VoodJ: •.(TtaifP.IHiultiv Decri.jgo^. 


Philip de Champagne was bom at Brussels, in the 
year l60£. His father beheld, with some regret, his son 
pursuing a career in which few suddenly attain celebrity 
and fortune. His means did not permit him to place his 
son in the school of Rubens, who required a considerable 
sum with his disciples ; but Philip had already imbibed a 
desire to visit Italy, and previous to undertaking it, having 
resolved to remain some time in Paris, he arrived in that 
city in l621, in his nineteenth year. After having la- 
boured under several indifferent masters, by whom he was 
employed in portrait and landscape painting, he was 
engaged to paint the ornaments of the palace of the 
Luxembourg, under the orders of Duchesne, Vvho, pos- 
sessing little genius, was compelled to have recourse to 
artists of superior merit. During this servitude, Cham- 
pagne felt some consolation in seeing it shared by Poussin. 
From that moment these artists became friends, and the 
counsels of Poussin, who notwithstanding his poverty had 
travelled over Italy, were of essential service to Cham- 
pagne. This labour he was at length induced to abandon, 
on account of the admiration of the connoisseurs havins: 
excited the jealousy of Duchesne. He had scarcely re- 
turned to his native country, with a view of going abroad, 
when he was informed of the death of Duchesne, the 
principal painter of the queen mother, Mary de Medicis. 
Being appointed by that princess to his situation, Cham- 
pagne returned to Paris, where, being honoured with a 

pension of 1200 livres, and an apartment in tbe Luxem- 
bourg, he married the daughter of his predecessor. 

Champagne produced a great number of works, not 
only for the queen, but by desire of the Cardinal de 
Richelieu, and to embellish different churches. As a re- 
ward for his labours he was elected keeper of the Academy 
of Painting, in whicli situation he, in the most disin- 
terested manner, distributed, among the least successful 
artists, the emoluments of his place. 

Besides the works which he executed in the royal 
palaces, Champagne has painted more than sixty capital 
pictures. Among these the apparition of St. Gervais and 
of St. Protais, a Christ, which he painted for the Car- 
melites in the faubourg St. Germain , and the picture 
in which he represented his daughter in the habit of a 
nun, afflicted with a fatal malady, at prayer with another 
penitent of the same convent, are the most admired. He 
has been reproached for want of energy and a too servile 
imitation of nature ; but it must be acknowledged that 
his composition is judicious and dignified, his drawing 
correct, his colouring vigorous, his pencil broad and flow- 
ing, and that his portraits possess uncommon beauty. He 
died at Paris on the 8th of August^ 1()74, at the age 
of seventy-two. 

F<dnr,-(f hv R'arbitkRwiivi 

Enaraved. iy George CooTtr. 

f- ••hwpe, Eoubtrv, Der^'ij." 


Among tlie sculptors of France Anthony Coyse- 
vox will ever maintain a distinguished place. He was 
born at Lyons, in 1640; and, at an early age, was em- 
ployed by the Cardinal de Furstemberg to -decorate the 
palace of Saverne en Alsace. Of this engagement he 
acquitted himself with considerable success, and returned 
to France to enjoy the reputation he had acquired. He 
was afterwards engaged upon works of greater impor- 
tance, at Marly, Versailles, and Paris. 

Anion"- the numerous labours of Covsevox, tlie most 
celebrated are, a statue of Louis XiV. the tomb of Col- 
bert, the Fame and Mercury of the Tuilleries, and the 
Flute Player in the gardens of the same palace, which is 
particularly appreciated. 

Coysevox gave to marble all the suppleness and soft- 
ness it is capable of receiving ; but it must be confessed 
that he was ignorant of that ideal beauty which sculpture 
requires above all the other arts. 

A real and undisguised piety was tbe basis of his vir- 
tues. Possessed of a pension of 4000 livres, obtained in 
the most honourable manner from Louis XIV. he took 
great delight in relieving the unfortunate. He formed the 
talents of his nephew, Nicholas Coustou, of whose rival- 
ship he might have been apprehensive ; but the passion 
of envy never engrossed his mind. The fiery Puget, 


therefore, expelled him very unseasonably from his work- 
shop ; to which place Coysevox, by an excusable curio^ 
sity, had introduced himself, under a feigned name. 
Puget having attracted the jealousy of certain artists, 
his hatred fell indiscriminately upon all. How could a 
man, like Coysevox, be envious of the success of a rival, 
who, towards the end of his life, replied, to those who 
praised his talents, in tliese words? " If I possessed any 
it is by those lights which it has pleased the author of 
nature to bestow upon me as the means of my subsist- 
ence : this vain phantom is on the point of terminating, 
as well as my life, and, like smoke, to vanish away." 

He was 46 years member of the academy, and died 
president of that society, in 1720. 

^xinud >)' VcuiJyck. 

Eiyravd. fy 

a- Stuirpt,Fov2xr 


^ Gaspar de Grayer v»^as bora at Antwerp, in 1585, 
He received his first lessons in painting of Raphael Coxis, 
whom he soon surpassed. Without quitting his native 
country, or following any other guide than nature, he 
formed so correct and fascinating a style, that Rubens, 
who went to Antwerp to see him work, after examining 
attentively a picture of his painting, publicly declared 
that no painter could surpass Grayer. Nor was this mas- 
ter less distinguished by Vandyck, who always expressed 
a real esteem and friendship for him, and painted his 

Grayer was invited to Brussels by the principal noble- 
men of that city, where he painted a portrait of Gardinal 
Ferdinand, brother to the duke of Spain, in which he so 
happily succeeded, that it laid the foundation of the fame 
and fortune of Grayer. As an acknowledgment of the 
painter's merit, the king sent him a gold chain, w ith a 
medal, and as a further instance of his favour, gave him 
a considerable pension. But Grayer was indifferent about 
wealth, and its attraction could not retain him at Brussels, 
where, for his glory, he should have continued. The 
court did not appear to him a residence suitable to artists, 
and upon his quitting it he secretly retired to the village 
of Ghent, where he found that repose, which he preferred 
to honours and to fortune. Far from remaining idle, he 
redoubled his activity, and multiplied his chef d'ceuvres 
in a prodigious manner. 

CASPAR DE GRAYER, [flanders. 

He principal^ painted religious subjects. Among his 
altar pieces, Si. Catherine raised to Heaven — two compo- 
sitions of The Resurrection of our Saviour — The Virgin 
interceding for the Infirm — and The Centurion at the Feet 
of Jesus Christ, are particularly distinguished. 

Crajer generally placed but few figures in his pictures ; 
but these he grouped with singular skill. He knew 
how to express with vigour and truth, all the passions of 
the human breast. There is a remarkable variety in his 
draperies, and an equal degree of simplicity in their folds ; 
and as to his colouring, it is admirable. " Grayer," says 
Fiiseli,"had notthe flights, the falls, and neglects of genius, 
so conspicuous in the works of Rubens ; he steered a mid- 
dle course, and preserved dignity by caution." In por- 
trait painting he so nearly approai^hpd Vandyck, that 
many of his pictures have been attributed to that master. 

Grayer lived to a great age, yet his temperance and 
constant regularity preserved to him the full use of all his 
faculties. At the age of 86 he undertook a picture, which 
he did not live to finish ; the outhne of which exhibited 
the same force and freedom of pencil, which he possessed 
in his most vigorous time. He died in 1669. 

Tainted Iv J.'Rdbd 

ruirai'd h' c-i/r/vc 

ndon:hibUs]i\l In lemor Hcod & Slhuyc I'cuim 


Among the great characters who have extended the 
fame of the British navy, by their victories, Sir Francis 
Drake maintains a distinguished place. Raised, solely 
by his merit, to the first rank in his profession, he was 
one of those who the most contributed to the glory of 
the reign of Elizabeth — that celebrated princess to whom 
England is indebted for its navy and its commerce. 

This eminent commander w'as born at Tavistock, in 
Devonshire, in 1545 ; and, at an early age, was sent to 
sea, with his relation Sir John Hawkins, who directed 
him in his naval pursuits. In 1570, he went to the West 
Indies with two ships ; and, in 1572, made another expe- 
dition, which proved very successful. He next served 
under the Earl of Essex, in Ireland, where he distin- 
guished himself so much by his bravery, that Sir Christo- 
pher Hatton introduced him to Queen Elizabeth. 

In 1577, Drake, who possessed the reputation of a most 
able seaman, obtained the command of a squadron of 
five ships, with which he made another voyage to the 
Spanish settlenients in South America, and sailed as far 
as 48 degrees N. latitude, giving the name of New 
Albion to the country he discovered. He afterwards 
sailed to the East Indies, and, having doubled the Cape 
of Good Hope, returned to Plymouth — which voyage 
round the world took up nearly two years and ten months. 
It was upon his return from this enterprise that Queen 
Ehzabeth, whom he had the honour to entertain on board 


his vessel at Deptford, conferred upon him the dignity of 

In 1585 he sailed upon another expedition, in which 
he covered himself with glory, by the capture of several 
important places from the Spaniards, and returned laden 
WMth wealth. In 1587 he commanded a fleet of thirty 
sail, with which he attacked and destroyed a quantity of 
shipping in the port of Cadiz ; and, the year following, 
he signalized himself, as vice admiral under Lord Howard, 
in the defeat of the invincible armada. 

In 1595 Sir Francis Drake again put to sea, with a 
fleet of twenty-eight sail of the line, and distinguished 
himself by new conquests. Equally intrepid as a soldier, 
as skilful as a navigator, he carried, sword in hand, several 
cities on the Spanish main ; and, in the year 1596 he 
terminated his glorious career, off" Nombre de Dips. His 
sepulture was worthy of his brilliant exploits — the ele- 
ment which had been the theatre of his achievements, 
served him as a tomb. 

Jcf fid'ltrk'd bv Vemor Hood X~. 


FRAN901S Flamand, whose family name was Du- 
quesnoy, was born at Brussels, in 1594. His father was 
a sculptor. This young artist, therefore, met with no 
obstacle in the prosecution of an art for which, from his 
infancy, he had a decided taste. His first works were 
considered as chef d^auvres in his own country. But he 
felt that they could be surpassed ; and, in order to obtain 
models, he went to Rome, at the age of twenty-five. 
There he acquired an intimacy with Poussin, who assisted 
him with his advice ; and became acquainted with Do- 
menechino, whose works he particularly studied. 

As this latter artist excelled in the manner of painting 
children, it is in figures of this kind that Francois ob- 
tained the greatest success. Compelled to labour for a 
subsistence, he undertook, for some time only, small per- 
formances. His basso relievos, in bronze and in marble, 
present the most fascinating scenes, in which children 
always perform the principal characters : their undecided 
features, their delicate contours, the ridhete of their ac- 
tions, the variety of their pleasures, in different ages, he 
represented with uncommon elegance ; and, among the 
most enchanting objects, shewed himself sublime. The 
celebrity of his productions has been increased by time ; 
and his figures of children are no less studied than those 
that remain of antiquity. 

His great works have not done him equal honour. 
Rome possesses a Susanna and a St. JndreWj which are 


esteemed as finished pieces, having cost him much labour 
and care. Being one day reproached by a friend for re- 
touching a statue that appeared perfect, he repUed — 
" You may reasonably think it good, who have not seen 
the original ; but I am dissatisfied with my work, because 
it by no means equals the model I have in idea." 

The Cardinal de Richelieu, perceiving him the first 
sculptor of his age, was desirous of attaching him to the 
king of France ; but, when Frangois became disposed to 
listen to his solicitations, one of his brothers, envious of 
his talents, and inured to crimes, gave him slow poison. 
The unfortunate artist had no suspicion of the cause of his 
sufferings, and his physicians recommended him to breathe 
his native air. He set out on his journey hcmie, when, at 
Leghorn, the effect of the poison stopped liis progress ; 
and he expired in that city, in the year i644, at the -j^j^e of 
fifty. Some years afterwards his murderer was brought 
to the scaffold, for another crime, when he declared him- 
self guilty of the death of his brother. His virtues were 
such as to disarm envy, and his talents rendered him 
w^orthy of being placed by the side of Michael Angelp 
and of J, Gougeon. 


Enaray'dM' Ocorae Cocki. 

; Fuilij-h'd hv Vernor.Hood .^ Sharpe .I'ou.Ltrx'. Sep'.i.jficd . 


Francis Girardon was born at Troyes, in Cham- 
pagne, in the year 1627. His father was a metal founder. 
He was at first placed with an attorney ; but, becoming 
soon disgusted with the profession of the law, he con- 
sulted only his taste, and abandoned himself entirely to 
sculpture. He would have remained for many years in 
obscurity, had he not had the good fortune to be noticed 
by the Chancellor Seguier,who offered him his protection, 
and sent him to Italy. It is, hovv^ever, said, that Girardon 
undertook tbejourne}^ by the express desire of the king: 
be that as it may, the view of the chef d'auvres of anti- 
quity, conlirmed his taste ; and, upon his return to 
Fra'ce, the connoisseurs admired in his works the union 
; tiV aiici nature, of elegance and correctness. 

But the merit and the reputation of Girardon did not 
libevfite him from the servitude in which Le Brun held 
all ^ ie artists bcionging to the court. He appears to have 
beta even more subservient to his wishes than many 
oth ;s. Upon the death of Le Brun, being appointed 
inspector-general of all works of sculpture, he was ac- 
cused of having exerted an undue influence to depreciate 
the works of Puget, from a jealousy of his talents. It is 
rather to be supposed, that the latter was unwilling to 
follow the plans of a man whom he did not consider as 
his equal. Coysevox and Coustou, who behaved with 
less hauteur than Puget, were equally ill-disposed to 
acknowledge the superiority of Girardon— who was^ never- 
theless, their friend. * 


After having enjoyed considerable celebrity, and been 
successively professor, keeper, and chancellor of the Aca- 
demy of Painting, Girardon died in 1715 — the very day 
that Louis XIV. expired. 

The four principal figures of the Baths of JpoUo at 
Versailles, the Rape of Proserpine, the equestrian statue 
of Louis the Great in the place Vendome, and the Mau- 
soleum of Cardinal de Richelieu, of which Le Brun, it is 
said, furnished the designs, are works upon which the re- 
putation of Girardon is founded. These different pieces, 
which will be ever justly admired, have contributed 
greatly to the advancement of sculpture in France. 

|r v?v tn=: >>5(' TCf tTT' 


;iri:iii' n' Himscl'- 


GRANDEUR; energy of composition^ an elegant manner 
of distributing his draperies, correctness of design^ and 
freedom of pencil, are the principal qualities for which 
Jouvenet, as an artist, is distinguished. His merit was not 
acknowledged by foreigners, because he was a French- 
man ; and his countrymen did not do justice to his 
talents, because he had not the good fortune to be a na- 
tive of Italy or Flanders. 

Jean Jouvenet was born in 1644, in the city of Rouen, 
of a family in which the taste for painting was hereditary 
— his grandfather having taught the first elements of the 
art to Poussin. Jous'enet, devoted to his profession, and 
studying nature as his guide, is indebted to bis application 
for his facility in the practical part of his art. Le Brun, 
then extremely powerful, was pleased to favour the first 
productions of Jouvenet, and presented him, in person, to 
the Academy. He was admitted a member at the age of 
thirty-one. Ardent, indefatigable, and enthusiastic in his 
art, he encreased the number of his performances in a 
surprising manner; and kept alive, by his industry, the 
public favour. The pictures which he painted for tJie 
chapel at Versailles, obtained him the patronage of Louis 
XIV. who would have made him his first painter, had not 
the great reputation of several cotemporary artists proved 
an obstacle to the monarch's choice. 

The Duk^ de Vendome procured the king's permission 
for Jouyenet to go to Italy, that he might acquire, by the 


study of the greatest masters, the species of perfection in 
which he was deficient — that is to say, more correctness 
in his design, variety in his colouring, that luminous com- 
bination, that magic of chiaro-scuro, which are wanting 
in most of his works ; but this journey he was prevented 
undertaking by a fit of the gout. 

Having lost the use of his right hand by a paralytic 
disorder, he thought himself wholly deprived of his pen- 
cil ; but this was restored to him by a fortunate circum- 
stance. Being desirous, one day, to correct with his in- 
firm hand a picture of young Ristout, his nephew, he 
spoiled the work. In a moment of desperation he tried 
to paint with his left hand, when, to his inexpressible joy, 
he found he could use it with a facility he little expected; 
and produced in the end several new works, equally good 
with those he had formerly painted. 

He died at Paris, in 1717, regretted by his relations 
and his friends, leaving behind him many proofs of the 
fertility of his genius. 




a 'W 



''i ^ 



ttmued. h}- VanA'ck. 

'.n^Tuved Tiy 

Lcrul^n-.I'uJbUsTil Ta' Vemor.Hood a- Sharp e, To idtn-, Octi.1808. 


The city of Antwerp, which has produced so many 
eminent painters, is particularly honoured in having given 
birth to Jacob Jordaens ; he was born in the year 
1594. He was a disciple of Adam Van-oort; but it was 
to Rubens he was indebted for the principal part of his 
knowledge in the art of painting. Jordaens had the ta- 
lent to seize the grand style of this famous master, who 
w^as then placed by Fame in a rank above all his cotem- 
poraries. Sandrart has related in his Lives of the most 
distinguished Painters, that Rubens, jealous of the co- 
louring of Jordaens, and apprehensive of being rivalled 
in a point w^herein his own excellence consisted, em- 
ployed him for a time to paint designs for tapestries 
for the king of Spain, by which it is said, Jordaens 
w^eakened his knowledge of colouring, and enfeebled his 
taste. The accusation advanced without any proof, and 
by a single author, has been repeated by De Piles and 
others, without due examination. Sandrart was himself 
a painter : and when it is considered, that many of those 
paintings, on which the reputation of Jordaens is founded, 
must have been subsequent to the time when Rubens em- 
ployed him; and which are still admired for their beau- 
tiful, strong, and admirable colouring ; this story must 
appear not only improbable, but an imputation unworthy 
of so amiable a character as Rubens always possessed. 

Jordaens was an industrious artist, and enriched 
France, Spain, Germany, Sweden, and Denmark, with 
his productions. The twelve pictures of the Passion, 


JACOB JORBAENS. [flandees. 
which he painted for the king of Sweden, and that, of 
the height of forty feet, in which he represented, by in- 
genious allegories, the triumph of Frederic-Henry, prince 
of Nassau, established his reputation in the historical de- 
partment : but his want of elegance and taste in design, 
and of dignity in his characters ; and, perhaps, his natu- 
ral gaiety of mind, rendered him more adapted to depict 
familiar scenes. Of this the Concert and Le Roi boit 
furnish ample proof, which pictures are regarded by con- 
noisseurs as his chef d*oeuvres. 

Jordaens had always expressed a strong desire to visit 
Rome, in order to refine his taste, and acquire the best 
manner of designing ; but he was prevented from carrying 
his design into execution, by an early marriage with the 
daughter of his master Van-oort. He had then no re- 
source, but to study and copy the best pictures he could 
procure of the greatest Italian masters, which he did with 
indefatigable assiduity. 

This artist painted with extraordinary freedom, ease, 
and expedition. There is brilliancy and harmony in his 
colouring, and a good understanding of the chiaro-scuro. 
He knew how to give his figures a good relief, though he 
is frequently incorrect in his outlines : but his pencil is 
always excellent, and for a free and spirited touch no 
painter can be accounted his superior. He died in 1678^ 
at the age o£ 84. 

Fainted iv S^ e.Kruller. 

Entjrai'd bv oeoroe- Coo'k& 

London;PubUsW. by I'erTwrMoocl^S: Sharpe-J'oultiy.Auoi.ii'iof' 


In the course of the eisrhteenth century, three men of 
genius, Francis Bacon in England, Descartes in France, 
and Leibnitz in Germany, undertook the reformation of 
philosophy. Bacon began, fixing as its basis the obser- 
vation of nature and experience. Descartes, who fol- 
lowed his steps, was desirous of founding it upon medita- 
tion : he conceived that man should draw^ every thing 
from his own powers. Leibnitz, born forty years before 
the death of Descartes, took a middle path : he pretended 
that it w^as the union of facts wqth principles which should 
be sought after and adopted as a guide. 

Descartes and Leibnitz w^ere severally the leaders of a 
sect — they had a brilliant but fleeting career. Li the 
life-time even of Descartes, the illusion of innate ideas 
was successfully attacked, and the chimera of whirlwinds 
acknowledged. The doctrine of the latter has nearly 
rested upon the same point where he left it. As to Bacon, 
he had philosophical disciples, but no sectarists — a proof, 
in some degree, of the mildness of his philosophy. His 
opinions were not agitated in schools ; but, like certain 
productions of nature, developed themselves in a slow but 
gradual and progressive manner. We attribute to Bacon 
three celebrated scholars, Gassendi, Newlon, and the 
subject of this memoir. 

John Locke, the son of Mr. John Locke, of Pensford, 
in Somersetshire, was born at Wrington, near Bristol, on 
the 29th August, 1632. From Westminster school he 



was sent, in 1651, to Christ Church, Oxford, of which 
he became a student, and took the degree of Bachelor of 
Arts in the year 1656. He was highly dissatisfied with 
the common course of studies then pursued in the Uni- 
versity, nothing being taught there but the Aristotelian 
philosophy, embarrassed with obscure terms and useless 
questions ; and had no less aversion to the prevailing dis- 
putes of the school. The first books which gave him a 
relish for the study of philosophy were the writings 
of Descartes, with whose perspicuity he was delighted, 
although he did not always approve of that philosopher's 
sentiments. He also applied himself to the study of 
physic, in which he acquired considerable knowledge. 
In 1664 he went to Germany, as secretary to Sir William 
Swann, envoy from the English Court to the Elector of 
Brandenburgh ; and, in less than a year, returned to 
England, where, among other studies, he cultivated that 
of natural philosophy. 

JDuring his residence at the University he formed an 
acquaintance with Lord Ashley, afterwards Earl of 
Shaftesbury, who became his patron, and urged him to 
apply to the study of politics. Mr. Locke followed this 
advice, and soon rendered himself serviceable to his lord- 
ship and to his party, who, having obtained the grant of 
Carolina, employed him in drawing up the constitution 
for the government of that province. In 167O he began 
to form the plan of his " Essay on Human Understand- 
ing,'^ which his employments and avocations prevented 
him from finishing. Lord Shaftesbury, being made lord 
chancellor in 1672, made Mr. Locke secretary of the 
presentations, which place he lost the year following, 
when his patron resigned the great seal. Soon after he 
was appointed secretary to the Commission of Trade; but 


that commission was dissolved in December 1674; and 
Mr. Locke, being in an ill state of health, went to Mont- 
pellier, where he continued until 1679; when he was sent 
for by the Earl of Shaftesbury, who had been restored to 
favour, and made president of the council. In 1682 that 
nobleman, to avoid a prosecution for high treason, with- 
drew to Holland, and was accompanied by Mr. Locke^ 
He had not been a year absent from England when he 
was falsely accused of having written c-ertain tracts against 
the government, and deprived of his place of student at 
Christ Church. But it is the glory of science, of litera- 
ture, and the arts, to be above the reach of kings. After 
the death of Charles H. some friends who loved and 
esteemed him, particularly Mr. Penn, who had known 
him at college, used their interest to procure his pardon, 
which would have been obtained, had not Locke, with 
that independency of spirit arising from a consciousness 
of his innocence, declared that he had no occasion for a 
pardon, since he had not been guilty of any crime. In 
May, 1685, Mr. Locke was demanded, with other persons, 
by the English envoy, of the States of Holland, on suspi- 
cion of his being concerned in Monmouth's rebellion, 
which occasioned him to keep himself private several 
months, during which time he was employed in preparing 
for the press his " Essay on Human Understanding." In 
1688 he returned to England, and was made commis-sioner 
of appeals. About the same time an offer was made to send 
him abroad in a public character, which he declined on 
account of his ill state of health. In 1695 he was ap- 
pointed one of the commissioners of trade and planta-r 
lions, the duties of which he discharged with great ability 
till 1700, when he resigned it, not being able any longer 
to bear the air of London. Mr. Locke spent the latter 
years of his life at Gates, in Essex, the seat of Lady 


Masham, devoting his time to study, particularly of the 
Holy Scriptures. In this retirement he wrote several of 
his works ; and died, with a full resignation to the will of 
the Deity, on the 20th October, 1704, in the seventy-third 
year of his age. " This life," said he, in the last letter he 
wrote to his friend, Mr. Anthony Collins, " is a scene of 
vanity, that soon passes away, and affords no solid satis- 
faction but in the consciousness of doing well, and in the 
hopes of another life. This is what I can say upon ex- 
perience, and wliat you will find to be true when you 
come to make up the account." His remains were in- 
terred at the church of Oates, where a monument has 
been erected to his memory. 

Mr. Locke possessed great knowledge of the world, and 
the business of it. Prudent, without being cuirning, he 
gained the esteem of every person by his probity ; and 
was safe from the attacks of falsehood or of flattery. 
Averse from mean complaisance, his wisdom, his expe- 
rience, his gentle and obliging manners, secured him the 
respect of his inferiors, the esteem of his equals, and the 
friendship and confidence of men of the highest rank. 
Without presuming to be a teacher, he instructed others 
by his own conduct. He was full of anecdote, and had 
a peculiar art, in conversation, to lead people to talk of 
what they understood best; by which means he acquired an 
insight into most arts. His principal works, which will ren- 
der his name immortal, are — An Essay on Human Under- 
standing — Letters on Toleration — Treatise on Civil Go- 
vernment — and Thoughts concerning Education. These, 
with his Letters and Miscellaneous Pieces, have been 
printed together, in 3 vols, folio, and 9 vols. 8vo, 

londonPublLrhd hy TerrwrHocd. &■ SharpcPouJtiy Aiw .1.1&08 . 


John Mabillon, bora on the 23d of November, 
1632, at Saint-Pierremont, in Champagne, devoted him- 
self, at an early age, to a monastic hfe, in the congrega- 
tion of St. Maur. 

Among the numerous works which this celebrated 
character produced, that on Diplomacy is in the most 
general use. The facility with which he criticised the 
most ancient manuscripts, led him to establish certain 
principles, by which the surreptitious titles might be dis- 
tinguished from the true. The matter, the form of the 
characters, the style, the manner of dating, and the seals, 
in fact, in use in difterent ages, are made subject, in this 
production, to the rules of criticism ; and, whatever may 
be the observations that have been added to those of 
Mabillon, his book has ever been considered an elemen- 
tary work on this science. From this evidence of his 
talents, we may form some judgment how frequently this 
learned man was consulted on affairs of the utmost im- 

During his residence in Germany, he discovered, by 
elaborate research, various materials that were buried in 
libraries, illustrative of the history of France ; and under- 
took, from the same motive, by order of the king, a journey 
into Italy. In less than a year, he enriched the national 
library with more than three thousand scarce volumes, 
either printed or in MS. It is to this journey we are in- 
debted for his collection, entitled Musceum It&Iicum. 



The catalogue of his other writings is very considerable, 
turning principally upon questions connected with eccle- 
siastical erudition. Towards the end of his laborious 
career, it was not necessary for Mabillon to put his name 
at the head of his works. Though his learning and ac- 
quirements were immense, he was but little solicitous of 
the favours of the great ; and could not be prevailed 
upon to accept a pension from M. de Colbert. He died 
at the Abbey St. Germain des Pres, in the year 1707. 

Pope Clement XI. upon his decease wrote a letter ta 
Ruinart, in which he expressed a desire to know w^iether 
th^ body of Mabillon had been honoured with a distin- 
guished sepulture. All learned men, who may visit Paris, 
will not fail to enquire, said the Cardinal Coloredo^ 
where you have placed him — Ubi posuistis eiim9 

His principal works are — The Acts of the Saints of the 
Order of Benedictines, in 9 vols, folio ; Analecta, 4 vols, 
octavo ; De Re Diplomatica, 2 vols, folio ; and Musaeum 
Italicum, 2 vols, quart©. 


Psuuei t>y Slmself. " 

Engrai-ed In' &a>rq6 0)ok». 

London:riiitUhd.h' TaTwrHood.S:Sharpc. TotdOy ITov.i.iBoS. 


Francis Mieeis was born at Leyden, in the year 
1635 ; from his infancy he displayed a taste for painting. 
His father, not opposing his indination, Mieris was 
placed in the school of Gerard Dow, where he soon dis- 
tinguished himself, and adopted the style of that master. 
Like Gerard Dow, he made use of a concave mirror to 
see the objects that he was desirous of painting; and his 
manner of painting silks, velvet stuffs, or carpets, was 
so singular, that the difierent kinds and fabrick of any of 
them might be easily distinguished He had an unusual 
sweetness of colouring, and a neat and wonderfully deli- 
cate touch. His smallest productions are replete wdth 
character and intelligence. He is allowed to be superior 
to his master, in many respects, being more delicate and 
extensive in his design, and more correct in his drawing; 
his colouring is more clear, his touch is more animated, 
and his pictures have more freshness and force. 

The merit of Mieris was soon geneially known, and his 
pictures, notwithstanding their high price, were frequently 
contended for. His love for his native country, induced 
him to refuse the most advantageous offers made to him 
by persons of distinction, who were anxious to attach 
him to their service. He lived in a very expensive style; 
and although averse to the society of dissipated men, he 
had the misfortune to become the associate of Steen, 
a painter of considerable talents, who turned publican, 
and was accustomed to fill hh cellars by the produce of 


his pictures^ when his stock of wine became low. 
Mieris was so delighted with his pleasing sallies, that he 
entered into all his drinking parties, and dissipated his 
forLane. Having contracted debts, and being thrown 
into prison, he refused to work for the benefit of his cre- 
ditors, unless they would grant him his liberty, which, 
in the end, was submitted to. He then returned to the 
company of Steen, whom quitting one evening in a state 
of inebriety, he fell into a deep and noisome ditch, where 
he would have perished, had not his cries awakened a poor 
labourer and his wife, who drew him from his perilous 
situation, expressing, at the same time, the most tender 
concern for his misfortune. Mieris immediately left his' 
deliverers, without making himself known, and the next 
day, he brought them a small picture, which he present- 
ed to them, giving them also the address of a rich ama- 
teur, to whom he desired them to apply. The connois- 
seur, recognizing immediately the work of Mieris, es- 
timated it at 800 florins, which sum he very readily paid to 
the labourer, who was astonished at the painter's genero- 
sity. From that moment, Mieris amended his course 
of life, but did not long survive the happy change in his 
pursuits. He died at the age of 46, in the year 1681. 

Mieris left behind him two sons, John and William: of 

, the former, little is known, except the tradition, that he 

possessed talents, which made it probable he would have 

equalled his father's excellence; the latter imitated his 

manner, but did not approach to his perfection. 

The pictures of Mieris are rarely to be seen, and as 
rarely to be sold; and when are, they fetch exhorbitant 
prices, their intrinsic value being incontestably great. 


Pai/iieS, InrWrudf 

Sn^ravui "by George Coclu:- 

L.ndrn:hcbUshd,by ratwr.Hc-cd,& Sharpe. Fovllry.lIov.T,iSo6. 


There is in painting, properly speaking, no Spanish 
school, although Spain has produced a considerable 
number jof celebrated painters, who maintain, at least, 
the second rank in their art. Among others we may 
cite Velasquez, Spagnoletto, Herrera, and Bartholo- 
mew Stephen Murillo. 

This artist was born at Pilas, near Seville, in I6l3 ; 
he was instructed by his uncle, John del Castillo, an 
artist of some note, whose subjects were fairs and. mar- 
kets, in which style Murillo painted several pictures. 
At the age of twenty he quitted Andalusia, in order to 
study under Velasquez, at Madrid, who frequently re- 
touched his designs. This journey is the only one which 
Murillo undertook, for it does not appear that he tra- 
velled into Italy. The pictures of Titian, Rubens, and 
Vandyck, which are in the royal collections, were the 
models upon which he formed his style of colouring. 
He was not negligent of drawing, but his studies after the 
antique were not sufficiently profitable. In Spain he de- 
signed and finished several grand altar pieces; but ihough 
his genius, taste, and abilities qualified him to execute 
subjects of history with considerable applause, his favour- 
ite subjects were beggar-boys, as large as life, in diiFerent 
actions and amusements, which he usually designed 
after nature, and gave them a strong and good expres- 
sion. His compositions very soon attracted general at- 
tention, Antonio del Castillo, a painter^of Cordova, greatly 


struck with their beauty, exdaimed, // 7'nefautmourir;je 
n'ai que trap vem! Despairing, in fact, of equalling Muril- 
lo, he sunk into a state of melancholy, of which he died. 

The celebrity of Murillo introduced him at court, 
^vhich but ill accorded with his modest and gentle de- 
meanour. He retired to Seville, where the favours of 
the great were heaped upon him. The generosity of his 
disposition prevented him from amassing wealth ; and it 
was solely owing to the marriage of a Spanish minister 
with one of his sisters, that he was blessed with riches. * 

Murillo married young; but the loss of an only son, 
in India, who promised to equal his fame, embittered 
his connubial felicity. At the age of 70, Murillo met- 
with an accident, from which no ill would have pro- 
ceeded, had not his extreme delicacy prevented him 
from disclosing its consequences to his physician. After 
suffering very acute pain, which he continually con- 
cealed, he died, much lamented, in 1685. This conduct 
may appear ridiculous, but it evinces the purity of the 
manners of Murillo. 

This painter has been sometimes called the Spanish 
Vandyck : he has been more frequently compared to 
Paul Veronese, whose manner he often studied. Murillo 
had an exquisite pencil: his colouring is mellow, and 
produces a surprising effect, by the clearness of his tints, 
opposed skilfully by proper shadows : bis carnations are 
excellent, and in all his paintings there is a striking- 
character of truth and nature. In colouring lie seems per- 
fect, but not quite correct; if his choice had been better, 
and his taste and knowledge of the antique more exten- 
sive, his works might have been ranked with those of the 
most eminent professors of the art. 

rf^ l^t 


Fauoed Vy &ns€tT'. 

Enarcn'ed tj C^ecrje uv-?i'. 

rrwrEood & Siiarpe,n!tdtry Tku!:i 2.'<o!'-: 


Robert Nanteuil, painter and engraver, was born 
at Rheims, in the year 1630. His father, although 
little favoured bj fortune, gave him an excellent educa- 
tion. Born with a passion for the fine arts, Nanteuil sa- 
crificed to them all the moments he could withdraw from 
study. His progress was so rapid in his favourite pur- 
suit, that he engraved the subject which ornamented his 
theme in philosophy. Having finished his humanities, 
he devoted himself entirely to the cultivation of the fine 
arts. His success in the country induced him to display 
his talents upon a larger theatre. He Avent to Paris, 
where he soon acquired, very deservedly, the most bril- 
liant reputation ; no less by his paintings, on copper, 
than by his engravings. After having painted and en- 
graved the portraits of the first people in the state, Nan- 
teuil was commissioned to take that of Louis XIV. which 
he executed of the natural size. This prince, enamoured 
of the arts, no less from an inherent taste than for the 
advancement of his own glor}', desirous of recompensing 
the talents of the artist, gave him a pension, and created, 
in his favour, the place of designer and engraver of his 
cabinet. Nanteuil, who possessed as much dignity of 
mind as talent, availed himself of his influence to liberate 
the art from those trammels which a state of dependance 
but too often imposes upon geiiius. He cbtained, in 
1660, that celebrated decree, dated from St. Jean de Luz, 
which secured to engraving that freedom and those pre- 
rogatives which distinguish it from the mechanical arts. 



Among the several productions of Nanteuil, the por- 
traits of La Mothe-le-Vajer, of Louis XIV. Cardi- 
nal Mazarin, of Colbert, Loret, and Turenne, are the 
most eminent. This artisl, en^dowed with an amiable 
disposition and an enlarged mind, wrote verses in a 
pleasing style, and was courted in all societies, for his 
manners and address. This led him into expences, and 
caiased him to dissipate the fortune he had acquired by 
his talents. He died, in Paris, in the year 1678. 

Nantetril is confessedly the first engraver of portraits. 
His heads, of the natural size, seem, in a manner, to 
breathe. He had the art of rendering, with black and 
white, the very tones of the flesh, and the velvet appear- 
ance of skin. His style of engraving was simple, easy, 
and picturesque ; the arrangement of his points, their 
happy mixture with the lines, express colour, and produce 
a soft and pleasing effect. The productions of this mas- 
ter amount nearly to 250 portraits, many of which are of 
large dimension'. It is difficult to conceive, dying, as he 
did, at the age of 48, how he was enabled to produce so 
many chef-d'ouvres. 

F-nnfavi' irforae Cocke. 

lc-ndjon:Vublith'a 'bv Tcnwr.Eooi. & Sharpe. FovHr)- 


Il Parmegiano was born a painter; his profession 
was never for a moment doubted, and, even at sixteen, 
his works were as much considered, as those of the 
greatest masters. The Mazzuoli, his uncle, assiduously 
cultivated this precious talent; and a review of the mas- 
ter-pieces of Raphael, brought it to such perfection, 
that it was said he had inherited the genius of that prince 
of painting. This eulogy was undoubtedly exaggerated. 
Parmegiano is conspicuous only for softness and elegance, 
and an affectation of style may be easily discovered. His 
attitudes are happy, his heads are charming, and his 
draperies finished with the utmost delicacy ; his touch is 
full of softness, his colouring bland and attractive. His 
design indeed has all the defects of the manner which he 
formed for himself. Sir Joshua Reynolds has observed, 
that Parmegiano supposed that grace, which is often 
blended with incorrectness, was its necessary conse- 
quence. Upon this unfounded principle, he bestowed 
upon his figures, ideal forms, equally distant from real 
beauty and gracefulness of design. An exam.ination of 
the works of Parmegiano, will convince us, that he did 
not attain that rank in painting, in which his happy 
genius would have placed him, merely from having too 
much neglected tiie study of nature. 

Pope Clement VH. employed him frequently, and he 
received many compliments from Charles V. whose por- 
trait he executed from memory. He resided alternately 


at Parma, Bologna, and at Rome ; and every where at- 
tracted admirers. Whea Rome was sacked by the Ger- 
mans, under the Constable de Bourbon, he was quietly 
working in his apartment, and some soldiers, ^vho had 
entered in the hope of pillage, were so struck with his 
tranquillity of mind, that they only desired him to give 
them a few designs, and to draw the portrait of their 
Commander, who had just been slain; another band of 
soldiers, however, proved more mercenary, and Parme- 
giano was compelled to purchase his ransom at a high 

He was fond of engraving, and the Italians consider 
him the inventor of engraving in mezzotinto. He had 
also a taste for music; but what is more extraordinary, 
his predominant passion was the study of alchymy. This 
absurd, and often fatal study, reduced him at length to 
indigence, which was succeeded by a deep and incurable 
melancholy, under which he expired, at the early age 
of 36. 

His name was Francis Mazzuoli: to the city of Parma, 
where he was born in 1304, he was indebted for the sur- 
name which has become so celebrated. 

The drawings of this master are extremely scarce. 


t*LAto, who, from ihe sublimity of his doctrines, has 
been surnamed the Divine, belonged to one of the most 
ilkistrious families of Athens, where he was born about 
429 3^ears B. Ci He was a descendant of Codrus by his 
father, and of Solon, by his mother*s side ; but, as if 
such an origin had not been sufficiently illustrious, the 
flattery of his countrymen has described him as the son 
of Apollo — and invented the fable, that a swarm of bees 
lighted on his cradle, and deposited their honey upon his 
lips— as a presage of his future eloquence. He at first 
received the name of Aristocles : but in his maturer years 
he was called Plato, from the broadness of his chest, and 
the height of his 'shoulders. In his youth, painting, 
music, and the various exercises of the Gymnasium, ap- 
peared to occupy every moment of his time. As he 
was naturally of a strong imagination, he composed some 
dithyrambics, and even an epic poem ; which, however^ 
upon comparing it with Homer, he destroyed. For this 
sacrifice, which his modesty enforced, he sought some 
alleviation in the study of the drama ; but at length, be- 
coming acquainted with Socrates, he devoted himself 
altogether to philosophy. He had then attained his 
twentieth year. 

Plato was, during eight years, the assiduous disciple 
of Socrates ; but, as he was guided more by opinions, 
than by the desire of knowledge, he did not confine 
himself to the lessons of his great master. From his 



first outset in philosophy, he attached himself to what 
was then called SijJicretism, a species of philosophical 
reasoning, which, by endeavouring to conciliate and 
adopt the most opposite opinions, seldom failed to con- 
found or misrepresent all. — Plato also bore arms for his 
country, and served three campaigns. He had formed a 
dctciminaiion to attach himself to public aftairs; but the 
misforriines which Athens experienced durino; the last 
years of the Peloponnesian war, the frequent revolutions 
whicii seemed productive only of new tyrants, and above 
all, the death of Socrates, diverted him from this purpose. 
During the trial of Socrates, iie never for a moment de- 
serted him: he solicited t'le judges, he undertook his 
apology, and offered the whole of his fortune, as the 
price of his friend's liberty. After the death of his 
master, Plato escaped to Megara, with many other dis- 
ciples of Socrates ; but his thirst for knowledge and 
information, induced him to visit every country in 
which he could trace the progress of the himian 
mind. His first journey was into Magna Grjecia, wheye 
he conversed with the Pyihagorian sectaries ; from 
thence to Cyrene, where he studied geometry under 
Theodorus. He then travelled into Egypt ; but the v/ar 
which then raged, denying him all access to Persia or 
India, he relumed to Italy, where the followers of Py- 
thagoras received him with greater confidence than 
before. He purchased their books, and from them, un- 
doubtedly, derived many of his opinions. When the 
prejudice against the School of Socrates had subsided at 
Athens, Plato appeared there as a teacher of philosophy, 
Bevond the walls of Ath.ens was a Gymnasium, called Aca- 
demia, from Academus, the name of its owner. It was 
planted with trees, and decorated with altars consecrated 
to Love, the Muses, and Minerva; and monuments^ 


erected to the memory of illustrious Athenir.ns. It was 
here, aiiiid the statues of the gods and the mcuies of his 
great countrymen, that Plato estabiisljed his school, in a 
house which he had inherited from his ancestors ; and 
hence, those who attended his lectures and embraced l)is 
doctrines, were denominated Acadeniicians. 

His lectures were suspended during three journeys wliich 
he undertook into Sicily. When he first went in order to 
visit Mount ^Etna, in his fortieth year, he v/as presented 
to Dyonisius the elder, by Dion, his disciple and ad- 
mirer. Here the candour and noble frankness of his 
character, exposed him to considerable danger. He 
boldly asserted in the presence of the tyrant, that no- 
thing in nature could be more base, and at the same time, 
more miserable, than an unjust prince. " You talk like 
an old man in his dotage," said Dyonisius. " And yoii, 
like a tyrant," ansvrered Plato. The kinq basely revenged 
himself by surrendering him into the power of the am- 
bassador of Spaita, who caused him to be sold as a slave 
in the island of JEgina. As a native of Athens, he was 
exposed to the danger of iinuiediate death ; but his cha- 
racter, as a philosopher, saved him from destruction. 
This fact, if true, is remarkable. — When he was released, 
and restored to his country and school, he received a let- 
ter from the tyrant, in which he attempted to justify his 
conduct, and requesting that he would spare him in his 
writings and conversations ; but he coolly answered, 
^ that he had not leisure to think either of Dyonisius, or 
his baseness.' His philosophy enabled him elfectually to 
forget the unworthy treatment he had received ; and 
some time after, seduced by the pressing and plausible 
invitation of the vounirer Dvonisius, the son and succes- 
sor of the former tyrant, he ventured again to Syracuse. 


He thought, perhaps, like Aristippus, that the proper 
station of a philosopher was to be near the persons of 
the great, as the physician to his patient ; — but he was 
deceived. The young prince was partial to that species 
of speculative philosophy which exercises the mind only, 
and was little disposed to listen lo the wisdom which rcr 
gulates and reforms the passions. He was desirous to 
possess Plato, as an additional ornament to his court^ 
and 'that he might enjoy the conversation of a man 
equally wise and eloquent ; but the rigid censor of his 
actions displeased him, apd the purity of Plato's conduct, 
was a tacit reproach to his own. He ultimately dis- 
played the caprice of a tyrant ; no longer evinced tha^: 
condescending familiarity with which he had at first re- 
ceived him, and would have used as a slave, the man 
whom he had invited, as his friend and adviser. Plato 
therefore withdrew from Syracuse. A motive highly 
honourable to his character, induced him to return thither. 
The tyrant had banished Dion from his court; but de- 
sirous of again possessing the philosopher, he promised 
on that condition only, to recall and pardon the exile. 
Plato, influenced by the dictates of friendship, deter- 
mined once more, ihougli in his seventieth year, to en- 
counter the presence of the despot. But Dion gained 
nothing by the self-devotion of his friend ; and Plato 
himself narrowly escaped with his liberty and life. Re- 
stored at length to tlie enjoyment of his home and his 
disciples, he died in the year 348, B.C. at the age of 81, 
in the house in which he was born. 

The writings of Plato, with the exception of twelve 
letters, which are preserved to us, are in the form of 
dialogues. From the principal circumstances of his life 
we may collect that his philosophy was chiefly derived 


from Heraclitiis, Parmenides, Tlieodorus, and, above all, 
Socrates, and Pythagoras. He enjoys the credit of being 
its author, by his method of combining the principles of 
these different schools, and embellishing them with the 
beauties of a style, peculiarly his own. When Socrates 
perused his first dialogues, he exclaimed, " How many 
falsehoods has this young man written under my name !" 
It was still worse, when Plato adopted the doctrines of 
the Pythagorean sect. In order to retain his charactea*, 
as a disciple of Socrates, he contrived to make him speak 
the language of Pythagoras. The wisest among the Greeks 
considered the opinions of philosophers in general, as 
only the chimera of men, desirous of being considered 
wiser than others. Socrates had said, " There is a God. 
I believe in the immortaUty of the soul, but know no 
farther ; and it were better to confine ourselves to this 
knowledge, and to study the different analogies which sub- 
sist between us and other objects of the creation, than to 
lose ourselves in conjectures, as to why, and how, they, and 
we exist." Upon this wise and moderate principle, many 
important discoveries might, even then, have been made. 
But the genius of Plato disdained a doctrine which could 
thus have been experimentally proved: his daring elo- 
quence demanded a more extensive career, in which it 
might display itself to advantage. The existence of a 
supreme Being, the nature of the soul, and the formation 
of the universe ; these were the subjects which signa- 
lized his controversial powers, and which he pretended 
to explain. Firmly attached to his system of cosmogony, 
he considered the laws of the physical world, the opera- 
tions of the human intellect, the first principles of every 
moral and political rule, as its necessary consequence. 
Thus the philosophy of Plato, considered as a whole, is 
only^ strictly speaking, a romance ; but it is the work 


of a man of genius, of a virtuous and elevated mind, duly 
apprised of the existence of a first cause, and desirous of 
catching a spark of his immortal creator. He is some- 
times sublime ; but he too often indulges in frivoloirs 
hypothesis, in ridiculous sophistry, or in a series of ar- 
guments, unintelligible or absurd. It was singular, indeed, 
that a philosopher like him, who inscribed on the door 
of his school " Let no one enter who is ignorant of geo- 
metry," who himself made some discoveries in that 
science; whose first disciples invented the conical section; 
from whose academy were produced the best geometri- 
cians and astronomers of Greece; that he should have 
consigned so many reveries in writings, which in general 
display so much eloquence, Vvit, good sense, and pro- 
priety. It has been said, that he follov/ed the common 
practice of the philosophers, of revealing only so much of 
their opinions as they conceived to be within the com- 
prehension of the vulgar. Unfortunately, however, for 
the fame of Plato, it was precisely bis most erroneous 
tenets which were received with the greatest avidity, and 
have had the greatest number of admirers. But to what- 
ever censure his philosophy may be justly exposed, we 
cannot sufficiently applaud that seducing eloquence, 
which Quiutilian has called Jiomerical, and that beauty 
of style which appeared so admirable to Cicero, and 
made him declare, that, if Jupiter himself had been will- 
ing to adopt the language of mankind, he would have 
spoken as Plato wrote. 




Don Pelayo, or Pelagius, son of Fivila, and nephew 
of Chindasvento, was destined, by Divine Providence, 
to be the restorer of the Spanish monarchy. Akhough 
born in a corrupt age, and educated in a Ucentious court, 
he had the happiness to preserve himself from its conta- 
gion, and the good fortune not to be comprehended in 
its punishment. He displayed uncommon valour at the 
battle of Xeres ; and afterwards evinced his zeal for the 
cause of religion and of his country. Perceiving Spain 
likely to be overrun by the victorious Saracens, he as- 
sembled the few brave men that remained, and fled with 
them to the mountains of the Asturias, where they re- 
solved to defend themselves to the last extremity. 

The Moors having nearly penetrated to their inacces- 
sible retreat, this young prince forming a considerable 
army of the nobles who had accompanied him, and the 
tiatives of Galicia, Biscay, and the Asturias ; and in- 
spiring courage in the bosoms of the irresolute, by his 
actions and harangues, determined to march against the 
enemies of their country. His warlike bands, imme- 
diately occupied the passes and the mountains ; and, 
animated by their heroic chief, formed the glorious re- 
solution of perishing on the spot rather than, by a dis- 
graceful flight, to abandon all they held dear and were 
taught to venerate, to the arbitrary power of their op- 
pressors. The Moors perceiving the hostile intentions 
of the Goths, attacked them on all sides with their ac- 
customed impetuosity, but were defeated in every quar- 
ter with considerable loss. They returned repeatedly to 


the charge ; but were, in every encounter, repulsed. At 
length despairing of being able to force their posts, no 
less fortified by nature than valiantly defended, they of- 
fered to Pelagius a suspension of arms, upon his granting 
them annually a moderate tribute. 

This being acceded to by Pelagius, on account of the 
scarcity of his provisions, he availed himself of the 
truce, in order to fortify himself still further, and to dis- 
cipHne his army ; when the Infidels, finding his troops 
daily increase, and that the people from the Pyrenees to 
Galicia had declared in his favour, resolved to attack 
him by surprize. The Moors, contrary to their expecta- 
tion, found their opponents so prepared to receive them, 
that they were completely routed, leaving behind them 
20,000 men killed on the field of battle, and sustaining 
other severe losses in the d<'files and the mountains. In 
reward of his successes and magnanimity, Pelagius was 
elected king of Leon and the Asturias ; and died full of 
glory in the year 737. 

Some historians have surnamed him the Saint, without 
assigning a reason for this title. As the defender of his 
country, altars would have been erected to his memory 
among the Greeks. It is not, however, paradoxical to 
pretend, that the Spaniards are indebted to the Moors 
for the most brilliant part of their glory. The efforts 
they made in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries to ex- 
pel them from the kingdom, and liberate themselves 
from a foreign yoke, gave birth to their greatest captains 
and most illustrious heroes. 

Pelagius was nearly related to the unfortunate Roderigo, 
who lost his crown and his life through the revenge of 
Count Juhan, whose daughter he dishonoured. 

Painted t>y H'^Riaaud 

EiiiJi-iifd M' I? eo me Coo. 

London; PiLblishd, iyVtr nor. Hood. & Sharpe ,FoiiJtn' Aiui.iaSoS. 


Matthe\y Prioe, a celebrated English poet, was 
born in London, on the 21st July, in the year 1664. On 
losing his father, when young, the care of him devolved 
to his uncle, a vintner, near Charing Cross, who sent him 
to Westminster school ; but afterwards took him home. 
with a Yiew of bringing him up to his own business. He, 
however, pursued his classical studies as occasion per- 
mitted, which proved the means of his advancement. 
Burnet relates, that happening to explain a disputed pas- 
sage in Horace to some company at his uncle's house, 
the Earl of Dorset, one of the party, became his patron, 
and sent him to St. John's College, Cambridge, of which 
he chosen fellow. In l6S7 he wrote, in conjunction 
with JNlr. Charles Montague, " The Hind and tlie Panther," 
transversed to the " Citi/ Mouse and Country Mouse," by 
w^ay of ridiculing a piece of Dryden's. In I69O he was 
appointed English secretary in the Congress at the Hague, 
and gave so much satisfaction, that King William made 
him gentleman of the bed-chamber. In 1697 he was 
secretary at the treaty of Ryswick ; and the following year 
had the same office at the Court of France, when he is 
said to have been considered with great distinction. 
He had not been long in that country when, going to see 
the curiosities at Versailles, the officer in attendance 
shewed him the fine paintings of Le Brun, of the victories 
of Louis XIV,, asking, at the same time, whether King 
WilUam's actions were also to be seen in his palace r 
" No, Sir," answered Prior, '' the monuments of mv 


iimster^s actions are to be seen every where but in his 
own house." 

Upon his return to England, Prior, who only regarded 
poetry as an amusement, composed verses on amatory 
and political subjects. When the battle of Blenheim 
called forth all the versenien, Prior, among the rest, took 
care to shew his delight in the increasing honour of his 
country, by an epistle to Boilcau. The battle of Ramillies 
soon afterwards excited him to another effort of poetry ; 
for, in the reigns of William and Anne, no prosperous 
event passed undignified by the muse. At length, the 
nation grew weary of the war, and the queen of her 
ministers ; and, on the tories coming into power, Prior, 
in July, 1711, was privately sent to Paris with propositions 
of peace. He was remembered at the French court, and 
returned, in a short time, with the Abbe Gaultier and M. 
Mesnager, a minister from France, invested with full 

The conferences began, at Utrecht, in 1711 ; but the 
peace advanced so slowly, that speedier methods were 
found necessary, and Bolingbroke, accompanied by Prior, 
was sent to Paris to adjust differences, who, after his 
Lordship's departure, had all the appointments and 
authority of an ambassador, though no public character. 
Soon after the Duke of Shrewsbury went on a formal 
embassy to Paris. The intention was to have joined 
Prior in the commisssion ; but that nobleman refused to 
be associated with a man so meanly born. On the return 
of the Duke to England, Prior assumed the style and dig- 
nity of an ambassador. Prior's public dignity and splen- 
dour were of short duration. On the 1st of August, 


1714, ensued the downfall of the tories and the degrada- 
tion of Prior : he was recalled, and upon his return was 
arrested by an order of government, put under the custody 
of a messenger, and confined to his own house. He con- 
tinued thus confined for some time ; and Mr. Walpole, 
in 1715, moved for an impeachment against him. Two 
years afterwards an act of grace was passed ; and, though 
at first excepted, he was soon after discharged. He 
had now his liberty, but nothing else. The profits of his 
employment he had always spent ; and, at the age of fifty 
was, with all his abilities, in danger of penury, having no 
solid revenue but from the fellowship of his college. In 
his exaltation he was censured for retaining it, when he 
used to say, " He could live upon it at last." Being, 
however, known and esteemed, he was encouraged to 
publish a complete edition of his poems, by subscription, 
which proved singularly successful. The collection 
amounted to 40001. to which Lord Harley, the son of 
the Earl of Oxford, to whom Prior had invariably ad- 
hered, added an equal sum, for the purchase of Down 
Hall, which Prior was to enjoy during his life, and Harley 
after his decease. 

After living some time, in a state of contemplative 
tranquillity, his health gradually declined ; and he died at 
Wimpole, a seat of the Earl of Oxford, on the 18th 
September, 1721. His remains were interred in West- 
minster, and a monument, for which, as the " last piece 
of human vanity," he left 5001. erected to his memory. 

" Of Prior," says Johnson, " eminent as he was both 
by his abilities and his station, very few materials have 
been left by his cotemporaries. He lived at a time when 
the rage of party detected all which it was any man's in- 


terest to hide ; and, as little is heard of Prior, it is certain 
that not much was known. He was not afraid of pro- 
Yoking censui'te ; for, when he forsook the whigs, under 
whose influence he first entered the world, he became a 
torj^, so ardent and determinate, that he did not willingly 
consort with men of different opinions ; and seems to have 
adhered, not only by concurrence of political designs, but 
by pecuhar aftection, to the Earl of Oxford and his 

'* If his poetry be generally considered, his praise will 
be that of correctness and industry, rather than of com- 
pass of comprehension or activity of fancy. He never 
made any effbrt of invention : his greater pieces are only 
tissues of common thoughts ; and his smaller, which con- 
sist of light images or single conceits, are not always his 
own. What he has valuable he owes to his diligence and 
judgment. His diligence has placed him amongst the 
most correct of the English poets ; and he was one of tiie 
first that resolutely endeavoured at correctness. He has 
no careless lines or entangled sentiments — his words are 
nicely selected, and his thoughts fully expanded, tlis 
numbers, however, are such as mere diligence may at- 
tain : they seldom offend the ear, and seldom sooth it; 
they commonly want airiness, hghtness, and facility — what 
is smooth is not soft. His verses always tell, but seldom 
flow. He has many vigorous but few happy lines ; he 
has every thing by purchase, and nothing by gift. He 
had no nightly visitations of the muse — no infusions of 
sentiment, or felicities ©f fancy." 

fainU'd h- A.Pond. 

■.Rood A Sharp e.Riulttr.Auo.iidod. 


Alexander Pope was born in London, May gS, 
1688, of very respectable parents. His father was en- 
gaged in trade, and amassed considerable wealth. He 
was taught to read by an aunt, and learned to write by 
imitating printed books. At the age of eight years he 
was placed under Taverner, a Romish priest, who, by a 
method rarely practised, taught him together the rudi- 
ments of the Latin and Greek languages. He imbibed 
his first taste for poetry by the perusal of Ogilby's 
Homer and Sandy's Ovid. Of Sandy^s he afterwards de- 
clared, that English poetry owed much of its beauty to 
his translations. From the care of Taverner he removed 
to a school at Twyford, and again to another school about 
Hyde Park Corner, from which he used sometimes to 
stroll to the play-house. He was so much delighted with 
theatrical compositions, that he formed a kind of play, 
from '^ Ogilby's Iliad," which he persuaded his school- 
fellows to act, his master's gardener performing the part 
of Ajax. 

At twelve years of age he retired with his parents to 
Binfield, near Windsor Forest, where his father had pur- 
chased a small estate. Here he wrote his Ode on Soli- 
tude, which appears the first effort of his poetic povvers. 
In the perusal of the English poets he soon distinguished 
the versification of Dryden, which he considered as the 
model to be studied. At the age of fourteen he made a 
version of the Thebiad of Statins, which he afterwards 
published. At sixteen he wrote his Pastorals, It is from 



this period, as an author, that the life of Pope may be 
properly computed. These poems procured him the 
patronage of Mr. Walsh, by whose counsel he regulated 
his studies. Walsh advised him to correctness, which 
the English poets had hitherto neglected. This was left 
to him as a basis of fame. In 1709 he wrote his Essai/ 
on Criticism, a work which displays such extent of com- 
prehension, acquaintance with mankind, and knowledge 
both of ancient and modern learning, as are not often at- 
tained by the maturest age and longest experience. His 
genius shone with still greater lustre in his Rape of the 
Lock — the most airy, the most ingenious and delightful 
of all his compositions. This poem was occasioned by a 
frolic of gallantry, in which Lord Petre cutoff a lock 
of Mrs. Arabella Termor's hair. At its first appearance, 
it was termed by Addison " merum sal." Pope, however, 
saw that it was capable of improvement, and enriched it 
with machinery from the Rosicrusians. He could pro- 
duce nothing afterwards of such unexampled excellence. 
About this time he published the Temple of Fame. Of 
the epistle from Eloisa to Ahelard, one of the most happy 
productions of human wit, we know not the date. 

In 1713 he published " Windsor Forest,^' which he 
dedicated to Lord Lansdowne; the conclusion of which, 
it is said, gave great pain to Addison, both as a poet and 
a pohtician. 

The next year produced a bolder attempt, by which. 
profit was sought as well as praise. The poems which he 
had hitherto written, however they might have diffused 
his name, had made very little addition to his fortune. 
The allowance which his father made him, though, pro- 
portioned to what he had, it might be liberal, but it could 


not be large. His religion hindered him from the occu- 
pation- of any civil employment; and he complained that 
he wanted money ever to buy books. He resolved to try 
how far the favour of the public extended, by soliciting a 
subscription to a version of the " Iliads' with copious 
notes. There was reason to think that Pope's attempt 
would be successful. He was in the full bloom of repu- 
tation, and was personally known to almost all whom 
dignity of employment or splendour of reputation had 
made eminent. He conversed indifferently with both 
parties, and never disturbed the public with his political 
opinions ; and it might be naturally expected, as each 
faction then boasted its literary zeal, that the great men, 
who on other occasions practised all the violence of oppo- 
sition, would emulate each other in their encouragement 
of a poet, who dehghted all, and by whom none had 
been offended. With those hopes he offered an English 
" Iliad" to subscribers in six volumes in quarto, a sum, 
according to the value of money at that time, by no 
means inconsiderable, and greater than I believe to have 
been ever asked before. His proposals for this under- 
taking were very favourably received ; and the patrons of 
literature were busy to recommend it, and promote his 
interest. Lord Oxford, indeed, lamented that such a 
genius should be wasted upon a work not original; but 
proposed no means by which he might live without it. 
Addison recommended caution and moderation ; and ad- 
vised him not to be content with the praise of half the 
nation, when he might be universally favoured. 

The greatness of the design, the popularity of the 
author, and the attention of the literary world, raised such 
expectations of the future sale, that the booksellers made 
their offers with great eagerness ; but the highest bidder 


was Bernard Lin tot, who became proprietor, on conditioit 
of supplying, at his own expense, all the copies which 
were to be delivered to the subscribers, and paying 2001. 
for every volume. Tfie encouragement given to this 
translation, though report seems to have over-rated it, 
was unparalleled. The subscribers were 575 ; the copies, 
for which subscriptions were given, were 654 ; and only 
660 were printed. For these copies Pope had nothing to 
pay ; he therefore received, including the 2001. a volume, 
upwards of 53201. without deduction, as the books were 
sOpplied by Lintot, 

By the success of this subscription Pope was relieved 
from those pecuniary distresses with which, notwithstand- 
ing his popularity, he had hitherto struggled. Lord 
Oxford had often lamented his disqualification for public 
employment, but never proposed a pension. Craggs, it is 
true, made an offer of one to be enjoyed secretly; but 
this was not accepted by Pope, who disdained to beg what 
he did not want. With the production of this subscrip- 
tion he secured his future life from want, by considerable 
annuities. Being now enabled to live more by choice, he 
persuaded his father to sell the estate at Binfield, and 
purchased a house at Twickenham, to which his residence 
afterwards procured so much celebration, and removed 
thither with his father and mother. Here he planted the 
vines and the quincunx which his verses mention; and, 
making a subterraneous passage to a garden on the other 
side of the road, which he adorned vvith fossile bodies, he 
dignified with the name of Grotto, a place of silence and 
retreat, from which he pretended that cares and passions 
could be excluded. 

In 1721 he pubhshed an edition of Shakespeare, which 


added little to his fame; and, soon after, resolving not to 
let the kindness of the public cool, he printed proposals 
for a translation of the " Odyssey,^' in which he was as- 
sisted by Fenton and Broome. The first copy of Pope's 
books, witJi those of Fenton, are to be seen in the Mu- 
seum. In 1727 he joined with Swift, who was then in 
England, to publish three volumes of Miscellanies, which 
were very favourably received. In 1728 he gave proofs 
of his satirical powers, by publishing the Dimciad, one 
of his greatest and most elaborate performances. At the 
head of the dunces he placed Theobald, whose only crime 
was supposed to be that of reviving Shakespeare more 
happily than himself. This satire had the effect which he 
intended, by blasting the characters which it touched. 
In 1732 he lost his mother. The filial piety of Pope was 
in the highest degree exemplary. His parents had the 
happiness of living till he was at the summit of poetical 
reputation — at ease in his fortune, and without a rival in 
his fame. " Life/' says Johnson, " has, among its sooth- 
ing and quiet comforts, few things better to give than 
such a son." 

By the advice of Bolingbroke, he turned his attention 
to amoral and philosophical subject; and, in 1739, pro- 
duced his " Essai/ on Man" an ethical poem, addressed to 
that statesman. Of this work it is needless to speak ; for, 
wh-^.tever may be conceived of its leading principle, it 
possesses refined thoughts and substantial beauties. The 
year following he wrote his " Characters of Men" written 
with close attention to the operations of the mind and 
modifications of life : to which succeeded the " CharaC' 
ters of Women" He next set about writing Satires, in 
which he attacked, with great fury, the vices and follies 
of the great. After these he planned a work, which he 


considered as subsequent to his Essay on Man ; but this 
work, being now afflicted with an asthma, and finding the 
powers of life gradually declining, he hid not courage to 
undertake. He had also thoughts of composing an epic 
poem, which, from the gradual declension of his vital 
powers, he likewise laid aside. He at length became 
afflicted with other disorders, which his physicians could 
not relieve. In May, 1744, his death was approaching ; 
and, on the thirtieth day of the same month, he died, so 
placidly, that his attendants did not discern the exact time 
of his expiration. He was buried at Twickenham, near 
his father and mother, where a monument has been 
erected to him, by his commentator, the bishop of Glou- 

" Of his intellectual character," says Johnson, " the 
constituent and fundamental principle was good sense, 
a prompt and instructive perception of consonance 
and propriety. He saw immediately, of his own con- 
ception, what was to be chosen and what to be re- 
jected ; and, in the works of others, what was to be 
shunned and what was to be copied. Pope had like- 
wise genius ; a mind active, ambitious, and adven- 
turous, always investigating, always aspiring; in its 
ardent searches still longing to go forward ; in its highest 
flights still wishing to be higher ; always imagining some- 
thing greater than it knows, always endeavouring more 
than it can do. To assist these powers, he had great 
strength and exactness of memory. He considered poetry 
as the business of his life ; and, however he might seem 
to lament his occupation, he followed it constantly — to 
make verses was his first labour, and to mend them his 
last. Pope was one of these few men whose labour is 
their pleasure. He was never elevated to negligence^ nor 


wearied to impatience ; he never passed a fault unminded 
by indifference, nor quitted it in despair ; he laboured 
first to gain reputation, and afterwards to keep it, 

"The person of Mr. Pope is well known not to have 
been formed by the nicest model. He has, in his account 
of the " Little Club,^' compared himself to a spider ; and, 
by another, is described as protuberant behind and before^ 
He is said to have been beautiful in his infancy ; but he 
was originally of a constitution feeble and weak. His 
stature was so low, that, to bring him with a level with 
common tables, it was necessary to raise his seat ; but his 
face was not displeasing, and his eyes were animated and 
vivid. By natural deformity, or accidental distortion, his 
functions were so much disordered, that his life was a 
long disease. His most frequent assailant was the head- 
ach, which he used to relieve by inhaling the steam of 
coffee, which he frequently required. His hair had fallen 
almost away ; and he used to dine sometimes with Lord 
Oxford, privately, in a velvet cap. His dress of ceremony 
was black, with a tye wig, and little sword. 

*' Of his domestic character, frugality was a part emi- 
nently remarkable. Having determined not to be depen- 
dant, he determined not to be in want ; and, therefore, 
wisely and magnanimously rejected all temptations to ex-^ 
pence unsuitable to his fortune. This general care must 
be universally approved ; but it sometimes appeared as 
petty artifices of parsimony, such as the practice of 
writing his compositions on the back of letters, as may be 
seen in the remaining copy of the " Iliad," or in a nig- 
gardly reception of his friends, and scantiness of enter- 
tainment. He sometimes, however, made a splendid 
dinner ; and is said to have wanted no part of the skill or 


elegance which such performan-ces require. That this 
magnificence should be often displayed, that pru- 
dence with which he conducted his affairs would not 
permit ; for his income, casual and certain, amounted 
only to 8001. a-year, of which he declares himself able to 
assign one hundred to charity. Of this fortune, which, as 
it arose from public approbation, was very honourably 
obtained, his imagination seems to have been full : it 
would be hard to find a man so well entitled to notice by 
his wit, that was delighted so much in talking of his 
money. In his Letters and in his Poems, his garden 
and his grotto, his quincunx and his vines, are some hints 
of his opulence. The great topic of his ridicule is po- 
verty — the crime with which he reproaches his antago- 
nists are their debts — their habitation in the mint, and 
their want of a dinner. He seems to be of opinion, 
not very uncommon in the w^orld, that to want money is 
to want every thing." 



Peter Puget, who has been justly sirnamed the 
M. Angelo of Fjance, was, like that wonderful artist, 
equally distinguished as an able painter, a great architect, 
and a celebrated sculptor. He w^as born at Marseilles, in 
1622, with all that impetuosity of character, which gene- 
rally accompanies genius. His father, like himself, an 
architect and sculptor, gave him the first rudiments of 
drawing. He was then placed with a ship-buildcT, who 
was accustomed to execute himself the rude and un- 
formed decorations that graced the several galleys 
which he built. Puget, as might be expected, soon 
surpassed his master, and had the general conduct of his 
business ; but, perceiving in himself the first indications 
of a far superior talent, he set out for Italy. He was 
detained some time at Florence, by the hope of procuring 
some lucrative occupation, which was rendered highly 
necessary by the scantiness of his income ; and at length 
extorted admiration from the proud statuaries of that 
city, wdio had at first regarded him with contempt. Be- 
fore he had attained his twentieth year, he had already 
become celebrated in the country of M. Angelo. 

He left Florence in order to proceed to Rome, where 
he was attracted by the high renown of Pietro de Cortona. 
Admitted into the school of that great painter, he made 
the most rapid progress; and accompanied his master, 
when he was invited to Florence to paint the cielings of 
the Palace Pitti. Notwithstanding, however, the many 



attempts that were made to detain him there, he resolved 
to revisit his native couDtry. He was received with great 
distinction^ and employed to make a drawing of a superb 
vessel, which was afterwards built, and named the Queen, 
in honour of Ann of Austria, who, singularly enough, at 
that time bore the title of High Admiral of the French 

A friar of the order of the Feuillants, who was going to 
Rome by command of the queen to procure drawings 
of all the ancient monuments in that city, thought he 
could not confide this great work into better hands than 
those of Piiget, who, proud of this employment, bestowed 
upon ir five or six years of his life ; but, unfortunately, it 
is not known what is become of this precious collection. 

On his return from Rome he finished several pictures ; 
but, in giving himself up with too much ardour to paint- 
ing, he contracted a severe illness, which compelled him 
to resign that art; and, for the remainder of his life, he 
devoted his attention entirely to architecture and sculp- 
ture. The two ends which decorate the fagade of the 
Hotel-de-Ville at Toulon, were his first productions in 
that city. At Marseilles he planned those numerous em- 
bellishments which have decided his reputation as an 
architect. Tlie minister Fouquet sent him to Genoa to 
.^elect blocks of marble ; but, having since been disgraced, 
Puget contiiiued to reside in that city, which he adorned 
with a variety of chef d'oouvres. There may be still wit- 
nessed, with admiration, a St. Sebastian, a St. Ambrose, 
an Assumption, and many other master-pieces, both in 
painting and architecture. 

It seemed to be the fate of this artist to be never at 


rest; and thatj not so much by the eliect of bis own irre- 
sobjtion, but from a singularity of events, which appeared 
to insure him a brilhant destiny, and then overwhehned 
his expectations, at the moment lie began to form the 
best grounded hopes. Thus he lost, in a short period, 
two protectors, in the Duke of Mantua and the Duke of 
Beaufort, Vvho had commissioned hijn to execute some 
considerable works at Toulon. Puget there possessed the 
place of director of the works which related to the deco- 
ration of ships, with a pension of ISOOiivres, which was 
bestowed on him by Colbert, at the solicitation of the 
Cavalier Bernini, wdio never ceased to extol his merit. 
This generosity of Bernini is equally honourable to both 

For Genoa and Toulon, Puget made models for dif- 
ferent works, which he had never the satisfaction of exe- 
cuting, from the many obstacles opposed to him by for- 
tune, and the envy of his cotemporaries. He was equally 
unsuccessful in his plan for a public square at Marseilles, 
and a statue of Louis XIV. At Toulon, however, he 
introduced the use of many ingenious machines for the 
service of the navy. At length the marble which w^as to 
produce the celebrated statue of Milo, arrived from Genoa, 
and Puget executed that chef d'oeuvre of sculpture, which 
still remains as the noblest evidence of his skill. His 
group of Perseus and Andromeda, which at the time was 
often compared with the other, presents beauties of a 
different description. 

Puget at length went to Versailles, where he w^as re- 
ceived with every mark of distinction by Louis XIV. ; 
but nature had not formed him for a courtier, and he soon 
retired to Marseilles, where he built himself a small house^ 


which is skill visited by strangers with curiosity and in- 
terest. He also presented plans for the two churches of 
the Capugins and La Chanti, which last was completed by 
his son. 

By way of relaxation he executed his basso-relievo of 
Alexander before Diogenes, and then began that of the 
plague at Milan, which he left unfinished. It was placed 
by the Conservators of Health in their new chapel, at the 
entrance into the park at Marseilles. 

Connoisseurs still collect with avidity his marine draw- 
ings upon velvet, which Puget was accustomed to finish 
with admirable care and ingenuity. 

Puget, the friend of every art, and himself endowed 
with every talent, possessing a solid judgment and an ele- 
vated mind, was yet exposed to a variety of unpleasant cir- 
cumstances, which continually embittered his existence. 
He became highly celebrated, but was never happy. He 
died in his native city, exhausted by labour, the 2d De- 
cember, 1694, at the age of seventy-two. To the un- 
bending severity of liis own disposition, we may perhaps 
attribute, in some measure, the many troubles and mis- 
carriages which the envy and malice of his enemies ex- 
cited against his peace. 



Bunted, Ji' Hinuelr 

■Verncr.Rood. S:Sliaiy< 


Joseph Ribera, called, by the Italians; II Spagiio^ 
letto, Avas one of the most celebrated of the Spanish 
painters, although Italy claimed the honour of giving 
him birth, it is, however, certain that he was a na- 
tive of Xativa, a city in the district of Valencia, al- 
though he was carried into Italy, by his father, at an 
early age ; where he had constantly the finest models 
before his view. He unfortunately had not sufficient 
discernment to profit by these advantages, for forming 
an intimacy with Caravaggio, at Naples, he embraced 
the method of that master, as more eminently calculated 
by its truth, force, and eff*ect, to fix the eye of the mul- 
titude. It was in vain that he afterwards studied the 
manners of Raphael and Correggio ; he could only sof- 
ten his style, and give more correctness to his design. 
A broad and vigorous pencil, an exactness of imitation, 
that did not diminish the boldness of his touch, and 
especially great strength of colouring, distinguish almost 
all his works. The truth which Ribera endeavoured 
to preserve in the terrible subjects he made choice of, 
caused him to produce many frightful pictures, which, 
tinder certain circumstances, it was necessary to with- 
draw from female view. 

On going to Rome he fell into a state of the utmost 
indigence. A cardinal, pitying his condition, gave him 
an apartment in his palace, and a comfortable subsist- 
ence. After passing some months in this tranquil state^ 



Ribera, perceiving that prosperity produced an indo- 
lence of disposition, that retarded his progress, he left 
the house of his protector, relinquished the pension 
he received, and beset himself to work in a miserable 
retreat. Such a sacrifice was amply compensated by 
the talents he acquired. He returned to Naples, where 
he married ver^r advantageously, and became, in a little 
time, the most celebrated painter in that city: he was 
there loaded with honours and with wealth. He has 
been reproached with having abused his reputation, in 
order to persecute Domenichino. The noble and dig- 
nified style of the latter differed greatly from that of 
Spagnoletto ; but although the scholar of Caravaggio 
might be incapable of appreciating the talents of the 
disciple of Caracci, he is not the less reprehensible for 
leaguing with men of no ability, who were jealous of 
the merits of that great painter. It is the only defect 
observable in the hfe of Spagnoletto. 

The manners of Ribera were correct in the extreme; 
of which the following anecdote furnishes sufficient 
proof. He had a daughter whom he loved. Don Juan, 
of Austria, the natural son of Philip IV. became ena- 
moured of her person, and either by persuasion or by 
force, took her from his protection. Ribera, afflicted 
at the indignity offered to his family, immediately 
quitted Naples, and immured himself in solitude, where 
he fell a victim to excessive grief. Some authors pre- 
tend that he died at Naples, in the year 16.56, at the age 
of 67. 

■ ulnvhihUshU IfvVernirrKwi X- i7;„ 


This painter was born at Antwerp, in the year 1579- 
He was endowed, by nature, w^ith such uncommon ge- 
nius, that ahhough Van Balen, his master, did not paint 
landscapes, Snyders devoted himself to the imitation of 
plants and fruits, in which he obtained so much success, 
that he renounced all other studies. Though he had 
gained considerable credit by his performances in bis 
own country, yet, from an eager desire to improve him- 
self, he travelled to Rome; and there having an oppor- 
tunity of observing the v/orks of Castiglione, he was so 
captivated with the style and manner of that great pain- 
ter, that he not only endeavoured to imitate, but exerted 
himself, if possible, to surpass him. On his return to 
Antwerp he found a zealous friend in Rubens, who em- 
ployed his talents, and neglected no means, to render 
him known. Snyders often painted the accessaries in 
the pictures of Rubens; who, to stamp a greater value 
on the productions of Snyders, enriched them with 
figures in return. Jordaens did the same: — but Snyders 
is solely indebted to his own exertions for the great for- 
tune, which he, in the end, amassed. From comparative 
obscurity, bis merit was, on a sudden, extolled. This 
happy change was occasioned by a hunting piece, which 
was accidentally observed by Philip 111. Struck with 
the beauties of the picture, the king resolved to have 
several by the same master. This acknowledgment of 
his merit attracted the notice of the amateurs ; and, 
from that moment, riches and honours conspired to 


promote the happiness of Snyders ; but far from l^eing 
elated with his good fortune, he removed as speedily as 
possible from the Court of the Archduke Albert, and 
returned to his native country, where he died, in 1657, 
at the age of 78, 

In the representation of living animals, or in that of 
fruit, fish, or game, the pictures of Snyders present the 
most perfect imitation of nature; or, in other words, 
they seem to be the work of nature itself. But it is in 
his hunting pieces that his talents are most conspicuous. 
In these compositions every object evinces truth and 
nature ; every animal has an expression suitable to his 
species or situation ; the landscape is always designed in 
a fine taste, and the effect produced admirable in the 

It is greatly to the honour of three such celebrated 
artists, as Snyders, Rubens, and Jordaens, that they as- 
sociated together, in the strictest friendship, mutually 
assisting each other in the most amiable manner; and 
their several works, where they have been painted in 
conjunction, are, perhaps, more estimable than if they 
had been the production of any single hand. 


Lucius Cornelius Sylla was descended from a 
iioble family. The poverty of his early years was re- 
lieved by the liberality ef Nicopolis, v.ho left him heir to 
a large fortune, which, added to the immense wealth of 
his mother-in-law, rendered him one of the most opulent 
of the Romans', Cruel and vindictive, like his rival 
MariuiS, Sylla concealed the vices of his soul, under the 
most amiable disguise. His taste for pleasure, his ap- 
parent modest}^, removed the fears which his ambition 
ought to have inspired among his fellow-citizens. In the 
war against Jugurtha, he followed Marios in the capacity 
of Qaestor, and prevailed upon Bocchus, king of Mau- 
ritanea, to deliver that unfortunate prince into his hands, 
although his relative and ally; and thus participated ia 
the glor}" which Marius then acquired. Having, after- 
wards, distinguished himself in the wars against the Cam- 
brians and their allies, and in two battles vanquished the 
Samnites, he easily obtained the consulship, to which he 
had some claims, from the greatness of his birth, and was 
appointed to the command of the army sent against Mi- 
thridates. This appointment the people were desirous 
that Marius should have received, which, exciting the 
jealousy of Sylla, who was more powerful than his oppo- 
nent, he set a price on the head of Marius, and compelled 
him to fly from Rome and Italy. Syila then pursued 
his exploits : Greece and Macedonia, v. h'ich v/ere rapidly 
taken from the king of Pontus, were only the commicnce- 
ment of his suceesse:-. The Athenians, greatly alarmed, 



solicited his merej, and recalled to his recollection their 
ancient victories, *^ I regard not these proofs of yom' 
former prowess/' replied Sylla, " I am come to punish 
rebels, and not to listen to their recitals/' Athens wag 
soon after taken, and razed to the ground, but Sylla, as 
he said, consented to spare the living, from respect to the 
memory of the dead. He was equally victorious at Che- 
ronaea and Orchomenes: in the latter battle, the troops, 
thrown into disorder, began to fly: Sylla, with an en&igrt 
in his hand, threw himself in the midst of his enemies : 
*^ Soldiers,'*' said he, " behold me perish, go and tell 
Rome, that you abandoned your general at Orchomenes.'* 
These words recalled them to their duty : they returned 
to the charge with redoubled vigour, and the Greeks were 
overcome. In the meantime Marius, who had been in- 
vited to Rome, there exercised the most absolute power, 
and put to death all the relatives and friends of Sylla.' 
Sylla was urged to return home, and to put a stop to the 
atrocities of Marius, but, preferring ta other considera- 
tions the glory of the Roman mime, he was previously 
desirous of terminating the war with eclat. Mithridates, 
attacked in the very heart of his kingdom, now sought 
for peace, whicb was granted by Sylla, on condition that 
he subscribed to the terms he might dictate. This treaty 
was however scarcely effected, before other etiemies pre- 
sented themselves. Fimbria, the envoy of Marius, ad- 
vanced towards him at the head of a formidable army f 
Sylla set forward to meet him, and encamped adjoining 
his opponent. The soldiers of the two parties, having 
intercourse with each other, soon united under his orders, 
and Fimbria, abandoned by his army, and not succeeding 
in an attempt to assassinate Sylla, put himself to death. 
Sylla then marched towards Italy: Marius had just ex- 
pired^ but his son supported his cause, and having ob- 


tained of ibe senate a levy of troopS; he resolved to op- 
pose the conqueror of Mithridates. The army of Sylla 
daily encreasing by all those whom the proscriptions of 
Marius had driven from Rome, he gave his enemy battle, 
x^efeated him, and, to escape his resentment, the young 
Marius shut himself up at Preneste, where he destroyed 
himself. Rome being now defenceless, some officers, 
attached to the party of Marius, unable alone to contend 
with Sylla, called the Samniles to their assistance. Their 
leader Telesinus, immediately put his troops in motion : 
he approached under the walls of Rome, and was on the 
point of taking the city, when Sylla appeared for its sal- 
vation. The battle was sanguinary, and a long time 
doubtful, but, in the end, Telesinus gave way, and Sylla 
entered Rome, as a tyrant and a conqueror. The fero- 
city of his disposition then became apparent; the streets 
were daily filled with dead bodies, and 7000 citizens were 
massacred by his orders. The senate, at that time, as- 
sembled in the temple of Bellona, hearing the shrieks of 
their dying countrymen, enquired into the cause. Sylla 
coolly replied, " they are only a few rebels whom I have 
ordered to be chastised." This w^as only the beginning 
of greater calamities ; each succeeding day exhibited an 
encreased number of slaughtered bodies, and a list of such 
as w^ere proscribed, was stuck in the public streets; the 
slave was recompensed to destroy his master, and the 
son was stimulated to imbrue his hands in his father's blood. 
Riches being deemed a motive of proscription, no less than 
4700 of the most pow^erful and opulent, were slain. At 
length, satiated with blood, Sylla wished the Romans to for- 
get his cruelties, in aspiring to the title of Perpetual Dicta- 
tor. In this capacity, he made new laws, abrogated such as 
were inimical to his views, and in short effected all that 
the most absolute sovereign, from his own will and au? 


thority, was capable of doing. But he soon became dis- 
gusted wilh his honours, dismissed his lictors and his 
guards, and, abdicating the dictatorial power,^ retired to 
a solitary retreat at Puteoli, where he spent the remainder 
of his days in riot and debauchery. The Romans were 
pleased and astonished at his abdication, and upon re- 
ceiving an insult from a young man, Sylla merely said, 
This usage may perhaps deter another from resigning his 
power, if ever he becomes absolute. This conduct proves 
that Sylla was well acquainted with the character of the 
Romans: in rendering tliem their liberty, all his crimes 
were forgotten, and his generosity alone became the subject 
of admiration. He at last died in great torment, of a filthy 
disease, in the 60th year of his age, about 78 years before 
J. C. His funeral was very magnificent, and hymns were 
sung to celebrate his exploits : he wrote his own epitapli 
in these words, '^ No one did greater good to his friends, 
nor more injury to his enemies." But this does not ex- 
actly convey the character of Sylla, for if, at times, he was 
noble and generous, he was revengeful in the highest 
degree. He has been commended for the patronage he 
gave to the arts and sciences, but his virtues were infi-« 
nitely surpassed by his crimes, 

Fnjrjird i*) Oejrjt . 


Attica had been divided into several factions. The 
supreme power had passed into the hands of the rich. 
If the nine Archons, who were the directors of the re- 
public, did not retain their employments long enough to 
abuse them, they at least held them too short a time to 
restore tranquillity to the state. Each required a govern- 
ment of his own choice : the poor were for a democracy, 
the rich for an oligarchy, and the merchants for a mixed 
government. Draco, chosen to reform the legislation^ 
formed a new code of laws. At his death, the factions 
revived v»^ith increased fury : — then appeared Solon, one 
of the seven sages of Greece, the son of Execestides : he 
was born at Athens, in the thirty fifth olympiad, about 
the year 63Q before Christ. 

After a profound study of philosophy and polity, he 
travelled over all Greece. At his return the people, 
wearied with dissentions, turned their eyes on him ; and, 
by unanimous consent, he was appointed Archon, and 
supreme legislator. Draco had given to his laws the 
stamp of his own character : severe, as were his manners, 
they had excited the murmurs of the citizens. Solon 
availed himself of his power ; revised them, and retained 
some, abolished others, or rather softened, and rendered 
them agreeable to the Athenian character. Occupied 
at first with the government of the people, he divided 
them into four tribes ; the three first, composed of citi- 


2ens in easy circumstances, alone bad the privilege of 
being elected to employments and dignities ; the latter, 
which included the poor and artisans, had only the right 
of voting, in concert with the others, in the assemblies 
of the people. To controul a croud, so fickle by nature, 
Solon established a senate, composed of forty persons, 
taken from the four tribes of the nation, and who were 
to be as their deputies and representatives ; he left the 
offices of principal magistrates, elective as they were 
before his time, and decided that every year the others 
should be determined by ballot. The Areopagus, that 
tribunal whose justice, integrity, abilities, and antiquity, 
acquired the esteem, confidence, and love of the people, 
was indebted to Solon for new privileges. The main- 
tenance of the laws was committed to its superintend- 
ance : it was to recal the people to the principles of the 
constitution, and individuals to the rules of propriety and 
duty; it superintended the arts and manufactures; re- 
quired of every citizen an account of his conduct, the 
manner in which he procured his livelihood; and caused 
those to be punished who did not work. Solon restrained 
luxury, abolished several superstitious customs, and al- 
lowed the Athenians to name such heirs as they pleased, 
provided they had no children. Above all, we may observe 
his great wisdom in the attention he paid to the well- 
educating of youth : the time for receiving public lessons, 
the qualities, and the choice of masters, were all regulated. 
He caused funeral orations to be pronounced in honour 
of those who died in the service of the state; he pu- 
nished, with infamy, those who had waited their patri- 
mony in idle expences, who had refused to carry arms 
for their country, or to support their father and mother. 
He made no law against parricide, because he did not 


believe such a crime could exist. Such were the sage 
regulations of Solon, regarded by the Athenians as. 
oracles, and by all nations as models. 

The Athenians, after having experienced many lossea 
in the attempt to retake Salamis, which belonged to. 
them, from the Megaiians who had possession of it, had 
forbidden, on pain of death, that any one should speak 
of recovering it; Solon, who felt of what importance 
this island might be to his country, employed a strata- 
gem to accomplish his end. He feigned himself a fool, 
advanced in disorder to the public square, repeated at 
first some verses of his own composition, and conckided 
by insinuating to the Athenians, that they should take 
up arms. Their minds yere animated ; an army vras 
raised, dispatched to Salamis, and the island was re- 
conquered. SoJon had required of the Athenians, that 
they should bind themselves by an oath to observe the 
laws for a century: thinking thus, that time alene would 
consolidate his work : and wishing to retire from the 
importunities of those who cam.e to complain, and to 
request him to explain the laws in their favour, he re- 
quested permission to absent himself for ten years. He 
departed, travelled over Egypt, conferred with the priests 
of the country, studied their manners and customs ; saw 
Crete; stopped at the court of Cresus, king of Lydia, 
who wished to dazzle him by a vain magnificence, of 
which the sage made- him ashamed. Returning to his 
country, he found it again torn by its old dissentions. 
Being welcomed with joy and respect, he tried to profit 
by the kindness shewn him, and thought himself seconded 
by Pisistratus, who, under colour of opposing the con- 
tending factions, concealed a desire of usurping the su- 


preme authority. The people, seduced by their new 
idol, were blind to the chains which were preparing for 
thein, and Pisistratus obtained guards to protect his per- 
son. Solon did not long survive the subjugation of his 
country ; he became a voluntary exile, and died in the 
year 559, B. C. at the age of 80. 


•nJ^-'i ^' h' Temorjlood. & Sharp e,.B>vilir\-2Tev. ijSo3. 


GiAcopo RoBUSTi, who was distinguished by the 
appellation of Tintoretto, on account of his being the son 
of a dyer, was born at Venice in 1512. He became the 
disciple of Titian, who it is said, jealous of his talents, 
dismissed him from his school. But Tintoretto was at 
that time sufficiently qualified to pursue his studies; and 
therefore applied himself to study design, after the works 
of Buonarotti. Entertaining the highest esteem for the ge- 
nius of his master, he wrote over the door of his apart- 
ment, The design of Michael Angehj and the colouring of 

His extraordinary application very soon raised him to 
the fii-st rank among the Venetian painters, and Titian 
himself was compelled to acknowledge his wonderful 
powers. His contemporaries called him the furious Tin- 
toretiOf from the fire of his compositions, the vigour of 
his pencil, and the rapidity of his execution, which en- 
abled him to finish a picture in as little time as many 
painters employed in the mere sketch. The love of his 
art inspired him with such disinterestedness, that, in 
order to have an opportunity of painting, he gratuitously 
assisted Schiavone, and undertook several works for the 
expence of the colours and the canvas. When employ- 
ed by the senate of Venice, in preference to Titian and 
Salviati, he exhibited the full effect of his genius, sup- 
ported by a glowing and inexhaustible imagination. 
But his productions are too numerous to be perfect : for 



which reason it was said of Tintoretto, that he had three 
pencils, one of gold, one of silver, and one of iron. If, 
as asserted by his detractors, he was not exempt from 
the defects of the Venetian school, it must be acknow- 
ledged that his spirited and lively touch, his animated 
compositions, his energetic expressions, the vigour of his 
design, the force of his colouring, and the strong lights 
observable in his pictures, amply compensate for the 
bad taste and caprice which, at times, disfigure his finest 

Tintoretto painted several excellent portraits. One 
day as he began to take that of Aretino, who had spoken 
disrespectfully of him, he took up a pistol, which he for 
several minutes pointed at his model ; then, dropping his 
arm, he said with apparent satisfaction, " I have taken 
your measure." This lesson rendered Aretino more cir- 
cumspect* The following trait does more honour to Tin- 
toretto: Henry III. king of France, passing through 
Venice, was desirous of conferring upon him the order 
of St. Michael: this great painter learning that Henry 
was indiscriminate in the bestowal of this distinction, had 
the firmness to refuse it, as unworthy of him. 

Tintoretto surpassed all the artists of the Venetian 
school in the quickness of his genius and the fertility of 
his invention. His knowledge of the best principles of 
his art was very extensive, but he had too much fire to be 
at all times discreetly directed by that knowledge. He 
omitted no labour, no study, no application that could 
in any degree conduce to his improvement in his pro- 
fession, and by his general conduct, appeared rather to 
be more ambitious of acquiring glory than riches. He 
died in the year 1594, at the age of 82. 

Enaravcd h' J-torcie tbokj. 

■ndonFuiUj-Tud fy Ve>rwr.n'oi>di-Sfuxrpe,roidtJj,Ja>uu80^. 


Theocritus was born at Syracuse, abor.t 300 3'ears 
before Jesus Christ. His father was nacied Praxagoras, 
and his mother Phi Una. Fie himself bore the surname 
of Simichidas, from the Greek word SemoSy whiph sig- 
nifies flat-oosec]. At the moment Vvhen his talents became 
apparent, Syracuse was recovering from its civil dissen- 
tions, uiider the a.uthority of Hiero the younger, who 
was called, by the voice of the people, to the throne. To 
this prince Theocritus dedicated his Idylhum, intitled^ 
^ The Graces." His I'eputation was not confined to Si- 
cily, He travehed into Bgypt during the reign of Pto- 
lem}' Philadelphiis, the son and successor of Ptolemy 
Lagus, or Soter, one of Alexander's principal officers. 
This monarch protected and cultivated letters. He 
formed, or at least greatly enriched, the magnificent 
library at Alexandria, which was unfortunately burnt, 
when the city besieged by Cesar ; the fragments of 
which, afterwards, by the order of the ignorant and fa- 
natical Caliph Omar, v;cre used, during six months, to 
heat the public baths. Ptolemy invited Theocritus to 
his court, and loaded him vrith distinctions. He held 
the first rank among the seven poets, who, like so many 
stars, formed the celebrated pleiad, for which it v/as 
disiingiiished. Pie numbered, among his friends, the 
most eminent men of his time ; among others Aratus, 
the author of the Phenomena, which Cicero translated 
iBto Latin verse. 


Unwilling to be confounded with Theocritus, of Chios, 
a satirical wfiter, he always placed an inscription at the 
head of his Idylls, containing all that was necessaij, to 
distinguish him from that personage. This precaution 
has, however, not prevented certain biographers from 
saying, that the author of the Idylls wrote epigrams 
against Hiero, tyrant of Sicily ; who, in revenge, put 
him to death. This should be considered as applying to 
Theocritus of Chios. Of the poet of Syracuse we are 
ignorant of the manner, the time, and the place, of his 
death. He is thought to be the first writer of pastorals. 
He is sometimes surpassed by Virgil ; but it is only when 
he is most happily imitated by the liatin bard. 


ThEophrastus was born at Eresa, a maritime city 
in the island of Lesbos. His father, a fuller, named 
Melanthus, devoted him to the muses, and placed him 
under Alcippus, of the same city, as his first master. 
He afterwards went to Athens, and was received among 
the disciples of Plato. Aristotle having quitted the 
school of that philosopher, to open one for himself, 
Theophrastus followed him, and became his favourite 
disciple. Aristotle at first changed his name, w^hich was 
Tyrtaurus, to Euphrastes, which signifies speaking well ; 
but not finding that this name expressed sufficiently the 
charms of his elocution, he named him Theophrastus, 
that is to say, speaking divinely. Comparing Theophras- 
tus, whose understanding was, as one may say, too 
quick, and Calisthenes, another of his disciples, whose 
conceptions were very slovf, he said, that Calisthenes 
required a spur, and Theophrastus, a curb. Aristotle 
having been accused of impiety by a priest of Ceres, and 
fearing to meet the fate of Socrates, retired to Chalcis, 
a city of Eubea. Before his departure, his disciples 
pressed him to name a successor. Theophrastus, and 
Menedeituis of Rh-odes, were the only persons on whoJii 
he could fix his choice. He adopted a singular method 
of making it known. He caused some Lesbian and 
Rhodian wine to be brought to him ; and after having 
tasted each of them, he said that both were excellent, 
and worthy the high esteem in which they were held : 
that the Rhodian wine had great strength ; but the Les- 
bian more sweetness, and that therefore he gave it the 



preference. His disciples understood his meaning, and 
received Theophrastus as their master. Aristotle con- 
fided to him the care of his writings ; and it is by his 
means, they have been preserved and handed down to us. 

This alone would have sufficed to ennoble the name of 
Theophrastus, and render it for ever dear to the friends 
of science, literature, and philosophy. The school of 
the Lyceum, under him, became more flourishing and 
more numerous than even under Aristotle : its disciples 
amounted to above two thousand. The mildness of his 
character, which was equal to his eloquence, gained the 
friendship of those whom his talents made his admirers. 
Kven kings were among the number; Cassander, king 
of Macedonia, and Ptolomy Philadelphus, king of Egypt. 
The people of Athens themselves had as great affection 
as esteem for Theophrastus : they protected him against 
an envious and powerful person, who had succeeded in 
compelling him to shut his school, and were on the point 
of punishing, as an impious person, one Agnonides, who 
had dared to accuse liim of impiet3^ 

Eresa, his native city, having been invaded by tyrants 
who oppressed it, he joined with one of his countrymen, 
and with him contributed, from his own property, to 
famish arms to those who were banished, who returned 
to their city and expelled the usurpers. He died aged 
85, according to some, and upvrards of 100, according 
to the most general opinion. The whole city of Athens 
attended his funeral. His attachment to life vras founded 
on an extreme love of science and wisdom. He com- 
plained, when dying, that nature had assigned so short 
a Jife to man, and regretted that he should quit existence 
at a moment when, as he said, he was oaly beginning to 
be wise. 


•ffi'- \ 


W (T:' TfV TCT'- rn 

hunted Iry VanJyck. 


The artists which the magnificence of Francis I. had 
attracted into France, formed several scholars worthy of 
dividing their labours • among whom Dabreuil, Bunel, 
Freminet, and, in a particular manner, Jean Cousin, who 
died in 1590, deserve to be mentioned. The progress of 
painting was afterwards retarded by Duperac, Bauilery, 
and others, who introduced a loose and stiff manner 
whicii threatened the loss of the art. It was reserved to 
Simon Vouet to open the glorious career which paint- 
ing experienced during the reign of that enlightened mo- 
narch, Louis XIV, 

This artist was born at Paris, in 1582, about twelve 
years before Poussin. His father, who instructed him in 
the tirst principles of his profession, was but an indiffe^ 
rent painter, yet Simon, by having a good natural genius, 
and having also opportunities of seeing many capital 
paintings of the first masters among the collections at 
Paris, obtained a considerable degree of improvement. 
He had very early the good fortune to be patronized by 
Cardinal Barberini ; and when that cardinal was exalted 
to the papacy, Vouet went directly to Rome. There he 
painted many portraits and historical compositions; and, 
if we may credit Sandrart, no French painter before 
Vouet made so successful a progress, or so respectable a 
figure, in that city. He travelled also in the suite of se- 
veral persons of quality in England and Turkey, and 
visited Genoa, Venice, and Florence Among the mo-? 
{dels he had continually before his eves, he had the wi^^ 


dom to make choice of the best; and neglecting such as 
attract admiration merely from correctness of design, at- 
tached himself to those that seduce by vigour and free- 
dom of pencil. 

A fortunate marriage, and the beneficence of Urban 
VIII. had nearly prevented the return of Vouet to 
France ; but an order from Louis XIII. brought him 
thither in 1627. Appointed first painter to the king, 
and indulged with an apartment in the Louvre, he was 
frequently with that prince, to whom he gave lessons in 
drawing. These favours established his reputation, and 
furnished him with frequent opportunities of exhibiting 
his talents. His works were now sought after by persons 
of distinguished rank. His productions are, however, 
for the most part, entire galleries, or pictures for churches. 
He had no genius for great compositions, nor much 
knowledge of perspective. His fame chiefly rests on the 
celebrity of the school which he formed, of which Le 
Brun, Le Sueur, Mignard, Dufresnoy, and Valentino, were 
the chief ornaments. He died in 1641, at the age of 

Although he is considered one of the restorers of paint- 
ing in France, his style appertains more to the origin of 
the art than to its decline. He abused the fertility of his 
genius, and neglected the study of nature ; or rather 
submitted to a system which he adopted, that was pecu- 
liar to himself. His pencil was light and lively, and his 
fittitudes were in general pleasing — but his colouring was 
bad; and his figures shew no expression of the passions 
of the soul. 

i^inml hvLnTciilU 

^ndffTvRCbUsW. h- Tenwr , 



Anthony Francis Vander Meulen was born at 
Brussels, in the year 1634, where his family held a distin- 
guished rank. He received an excellent education, which 
increased his natural affection for the fine arts. He was 
a disciple of Peter Snayers. As soon as he had learnt to 
haudle his pencil, he produced several works that were 
greatly adm'red by the coiinoisseurs. Some of his com- 
posiiions being shewn to M. Colbert, that great minister, 
discerning the abilities of Vander Meulen, induced him 
to leave his native city, and settle at Paris. Le Bour- 
gognone, a famous painter of battle pieces, then enjoyed 
the most brilliant reputation in Italy ; but his pencil, 
more bold ihan graceful, was less suited to paint the 
events of the reign of Louis XIV., than the fine and 
spirited touch of Vander Meulen. He attended that 
enterprising monarch in the field, and designed, on the 
spot, the sieges, attacks, encampments, and marches of 
the king's armies; also the views of those cities and towns 
memorable by any degree of success ; and from those 
sketches, he composed the paintings which were intended 
to perpetuate the remembrance of those military exploits. 

It was the talent of Vander Meulen, in all his battle 
pieces, to give to his heroes, under the costume of bis 
time, that noble and elevated character which history 
aifords them, and that polite demeanour by which their 
heroism was distinguished. It may, therefore, be said, 
that his pictures are excellent memoirs of the age in 

VANDER MEULEN. [Netherlands. 

which he lived. He was greatly beloved by Louis XIV., 
who gave him an appointment of 2000 livres a-year, 
beside being paid for his work. 

His extraordinary merit, and the protection he re- 
ceived from Le Brun, whose niece he married, obtained 
him the favour of men of the most exalted birth, and 
placed him in a state of affluence ; but his happiness 
was embittered by secret calamities. Some domestic dis- 
quietude, it is thought, produced an unconquerable me- 
lancholy, which carried him off, in the year I69O, at 
the age of fifty-six. 

In his imitation of nature, Vander Meulen was exact 
and faithful — his colouring is excellent, and in his land- 
scape the skies and distances are clear. His design is in 
general correct ; and, in the distribution of his hghts and 
and shadows, there appears so good an understanding, 
that the eye of the spectator is constantly pleased and 
entertained. If the works of Vander Meulen have not 
the vigour of those of Bourgognone and Parocel, they 
are perhaps more engaging. No painter could excel 
him in describing the various motions, actions, and atti- 
tudes of horses, as he carefully studied every object after 
nature, and knew how to express them with truth and 

The principal works of this master were at Versailles 
and Marli ; but many of his easel pictures are in the 
cabinets of the curious in this country. 

.ondoTi;l\iiLuk'd by V^aior Hcod X- ol 


Thomas Wolsey, who presented to England, during 
many years, the unusual spectacle of an absolute minister 
under a despotic monarch, was the son of a butcher at 
Ipswich, in Suffolk, and born in 1473. Having obtained 
a learned education, and being endowed with an excellent 
capacity, he was admitted into the Marquis of Dorset's 
family, as tutor to that nobleman's children, and soon 
gained the friendship and countenance of his patron. He 
"was recommended to be chaplain to king Henry VH. 
and being employed by that monarch in a secret nego- 
ciation, which regarded his intended marriage with Mar- 
garet of Savoy, he acquitted himself to the king's satis- 
faction, and obtained the praise both of diligence and 
dexterity in his conduct. Undoubted talents, and above 
all the art of taking advantage of the weakness of others, 
made him rapidly advance towards that unrivalled gran- 
deur which he afterwards attained. He gained such 
ascendancy over the mind of young Henry, that, from 
being the companion of his pleasures, he promoted him 
to be a member of his council — and, from a member of 
his council, to be his sole and absolute minister. Honours 
and dignities flowed upon him with a success equal to 
his ambitious desires. Having been successively ap- 
pointed to several sees, he became at length Archbishop 
of York, a Cardinal, and Lord High Chancellor. By this 
rapid advancement and uncontrouled authority, the cha- 
racter and genius of Wolsey had full opportunity to dis- 
play themselves. Insatiable in his acquisitions, but still 
more ma.s;nificent in his expence— of extensive capacity, 



but of still more unbounded enterprise — ambitious of 
power, but still more desirous of glory — insinuating, en- 
gaging, persuasive, and by turns lofty, elevated, com- 
manding — haughty to his equals, but affable to his de- 
pendants — oppressive to the people, but liberal to his 
friends — more generous than grateful — less moved by in- 
juries than by contempt — he was formed to take the lead 
in ewery intercourse with others; but exerted this supe- 
riority of nature with such ostentation as exposed him to 
eiwy, and made every one willing to recal the original in- 
feriority or rather meanness of his fortune. 

If Wolsey had not inherited from nature a pre-disposir 
lion to arrogance and pride, the uncommon incense he 
received at home and from foreign courts, must havr 
awakened and encouraged both. Among the mightiest 
monarchs who divided the power and disturbed the peac6 
of Europe, were Charles V. and Francis I. Each desirous 
of securing the alliance of Henry, who, from his peculiar 
situation more than by his intrinsic power, might then 
be deemed the arbiter of kings, endeavoured to render 
Wolsey favourable to his cause ; and assailed him by 
those means of seduction to which he was most open^. 
flattery and presents. They called him, in their letters^, 
father, tutor, governor, and professed the most unbounded 
deference for his opinion and advice. They instilled into 
this aspiring prelate the hope of attaining the papacy; 
and, as that was the sole point of elevation beyond his 
present greatness,* it could not fail of attracting his 

♦ " On his being invested witli the legantine power, together with 
the right of visiting all the clergy and monasteries, Wolsey made a 
display of that state and parade to which he was so mtich addicted. 
On solemn feast days, he was not content with saying mass after the 
manner of the pope himself: not only he had bishops and abbots to 
serve him, he even engaged the first nobility to give him water and 


wishes, with an ardour amounting to a certainty of ob- 
taining it. But when the more fortunate Charles had 
defeated his rival at Pavia, he no longer kept up the 

the towel. He affected a rank superior to what had ever been 
claimed by any churchman in England. Warham, the primate, 
having written hira a letter, in which he subscnbed himself j/owr- 
loving brother, Wolsey complained of his presumption, in thus chal- 
lenging an equality with him. But Wolsey carried the matter much 
farther than vain pomp and ostentation. He erected an office, which 
he called the Legantine Court; and, as he was now, by means of the 
pope's commission, and the king's favour, invested with all power, 
both ecclesiastical and civil, no man knew what bounds were to be 
set to the authority of this new tribunal. He conferred on it a kind 
of inquisitorial and censorial power, even over the laity, and directed 
it to enquire into all matters of conscience — into all conduct which 
had given scandal — into all actions which, though they escaped the 
law, might appear centrary to good morals. Offence was taken at 
this commission, which was really unbounded; and the people were 
the more disgusted, when they saw a man, who indulged himself in 
pomp and pleasure, so severe in repressing the least appearance of 
hcentiousness in others. But, to render his court more obnoxious, 
WoJsey made one John Allen judge in it — a person of scandalous life, 
whom he himself, as chancellor, had, it is said, condemned for per- 
jury; and, as it is pretended that this man either extorted fines from 
every one whom he was pleased to find guilty, or took bribes to drop 
prosecutions, men concluded, and with some appearance of reason, 
that he shared with the cardinal those wages of iniquity. The clerg}', 
and in particular the monks, were exposed to this tyranny; and, as 
the libertinism of their lives often gave a just handle against them, 
they were obliged to purchase an indemnity, by paying large sums of 
money to the legate or his judge. Not content with this authority, 
Wolsey pretended, by virtue of his commission, to assume the juris^' 
diction of all Bishop's Courts, particularly that of judging of wills and 
testaments — and his decisions in those important points were deemed 
not a little arbitrary As if he himself were pope, and as if the pope 
could absolutely dispose of every ecclesiastical preferment, he pre- 
sented to whatever priories or benefices he pleased, without regard to 
the right of election in the monks, or patronage in the nobility and 


Hume's Jiktory of England — Henry VIIL 


same appearance of respect for Wolsey ; and, finding his 
friendship useless, as his own power increased, he openly 
supported the pretensions of other candidates for that 
high station, in the two vacancies that occurred by the 
deaths of Leo X. and Adrian VI. The haughty minister, 
thus obstructed in his ambitious views, revenged himself 
by dissolving the alliance between the emperor and his 
master. When Henry first raised difficulties in regard 
to his marriage with Catherine of Arragon, Wolsey 
strengthened these scruples — partly with a view of ef- 
fecting a total breach with the emperor, Catherine's 
nephew — partly desirous of connecting the king more 
closely with Francis, by marrying him to the Duchess of 
Alencon, sister of that monarch — and perhaps, too, some- 
what disgusted with the queen herself, who had reproved 
him for certain freedoms unbefitting his character and 
station. But unfortunately for Wolsey, Henry was en- 
couraged, though perhaps not at first excited by a motive 
more forcible than even the suggestions of his powerful 

W^hatever was the diversity of opinions as to the 
grounds which led to this celebrated divorce and all its 
important consequences, it seems now to be generally un- 
derstood, that, though Henr^^ might have been sincere, 
in the first instance, in his objections to the marriage 
which had so long bound him to Catherine, his dislike to 
her person, and his growing attachment to Anne Boleyn, 
were the real causes. Impatient at the delays and equi- 
vocations of the court of Rome, he determined to effect 
his divorce without its consent ; and, as this could not 
he done without a total overthrow of that jurisdiction 
which, in common with other countries, had long held 
England in subjection to the Holy See, he embraced the 
favourable opportunity of introducing a reformation, by 


which he could at once gratify his passion and extend his 
authority. The event was fatal to Wolsey, as well as to 
Catharine; and he himself regarded it as the sure fore- 
runner of his ruin. The impartial historian will, how- 
ever, remark, that whatever were his defects, whatever 
might have heen his antecedent conduct, he owed his 
disgrace to an accident in which he had no share, and 
was punished for a delay which did not originate with 
him. Though he had at first desired that the king should 
marry a French princess rather than Anne Boleyn, he 
had employed himself with the utmost assiduit}' and 
earnestness to bring the affair to a happ}' issue. He 
could not be blamed for a procrastination created solely 
by the timidity of Clement, and the menaces of Charles. 
He had declined to act as president of the court ap- 
pointed to try the validity of the marriage ; but he knew 
from experience that Henry's temper ill brooked either 
contradiction or delay, and was accustomed to make his 
ministers answerable for the success of the transactions 
with which they were entrusted. Boleyn, too, was pre- 
possessed against him, and imputed to him the temporary 
failure of her hopes. The meek and gentle Catherine 
herself expressed great animosity against him ; and these 
opposite factions seemed to combine in the ruin of this 
haughty minister. The king's prejudices against him 
were every where cherished and fortified. He was dis- 
graced — and his decline and fall from grandeur and 
power, were as precipitate as his elevation had formerly 
been rapid and unprecedented. 

His opulence was probably no small inducement to this 
violent persecution against him. He was deprived of 
his places. His palaces, his furniture, and his piate, were 
seized into the" king's hands. The world, that had paid 
him such abject court during his prosperity, new deserted 


him, on this fatal reverse of all his fortunes. He was de- 
jected at the change — and flattered himself, for some 
time, from some gleams of kindness which occasionally 
escaped the king, that his case was not yet desperate; 
but the rapidity with which his numerous enemies pur- 
sued his destruction, excluded him at length from al! 
hopes of ever being reinstated in his former authority. 
He then dismissed his retinue; and, as he had been ever 
a kind and beneficent master, the separation was not ef- 
fected without tears on both sides. 1 ne remainder of his 
persecution was severe in the extreme — he was indicted 
in the Star Chamber, and abandoned to all the rigour of 
the parliament. The charges brought against him were 
none of them important ; and, of the forty-four heads of 
accusation, surely nothing can exceed the absurdity of 
the following — '* that he had endangered the king's 
health, by whispering in his ear, at a time when he was 
alEictcd with a disorder, the consequence of his de- 
baucheries/' But Henry dreaded his conscientious op- 
position to the new doctrines he was attempting to esta- 
blish, and determined to consummate his ruin. He was 
accused of high treason — pursued to Cawood, in York- 
shire, where he had fixed his residence — and brought as 
far as Leicester Abbey, on his way to London, to take his 
trial. But death interposed — he was attacked with a dis- 
order, occasioned by the agitation of his mind and the 
fatigues of his journev, and expired on the 28th Nov. 
1530. A little before his death, he addressed these af- 
fecting words to Sir William Kingston, Constable of the 
Tower. " I pray you have me heartily recommended 
unto his royal majesty ; and beseech him, on ray behalf, 
to call to his remembrance all matters that have passed 
between us from the beginning, especially with regard to 
his business with the queen, and then he will know in his 
conscience whether I have offended him. He is a prince 


of a most royal carriage, and hath a princely heart ; ?nc], 
rather than he will miss or want any part of his will, he 
will endanger the one half of his kingdom. 1 do assure 
you that I have often kneeled before him, sometimes 
three hours together, to persuade him from his will and 
appetite, but could not prevail. Had I but served God 
m diligently as I have served the king, he would not have 
given me over in my grey hairs. But this is the just re- 
ward that I must receive for my indulgent pains and 
study, not regarding my service to God, but only to my 
prince I" 

Thus died this famous cardinal, whose character seems 
to have contained as singular a variety, as the fortune to 
which he was exposed. The obstinacy and violence of 
the king's temper may alleviate much of the blame which 
some of his favourite measures have undergone ; and^ 
when we consider that the subsequent part of Henry's 
reign was much more criminal than that which had been 
directed by Wolsey's counsels, we shall be inclined to 
suspect those historians or partiality, who have endea- 
voured to load the memory of this minister with such 
violent reproaches. If, in foreign politics, he sometimes 
employed his influence over the king for his private pur- 
poses, rather than his master's service, we must remember 
that he had in view the papal throne, a dignity which, 
had he attained it, would have enabled him to make 
Henry a suitable return for all his favours. There is 
reason to think that the king was well acquainted with 
the Views by which his minister was actuated, and took a 
pnde in pn^noting them. He much regretted his death 
when informed of it, and always spoke favourably of his 
memory — a proof that ill-humour, more than reason, or 
any discovery of treachery, had occasioned the persecu- 


tions against him. From the unjust trial and death of 
Buckingham, it is not here pretended to justify liira. 

But let this just and lasting praise he paid to the me- 
mory of Wolsey — he encouraged letters, and founded a 
noble endowment at Oxford, as well as at his native 
place. We have said, that to his dependants he was 
kind, beneficent, and humane ; and, that he was capable 
of inspiring friendship and the utmost devotion to his 
person, the intrepid defence of Cromwell, and the disin- 
terested services of Cavendish, are lasting records. 



Alexander the Great, after having paid great 
honours to the memory of Achilles, and caused games 
to be celebrated around his tomb, departed for Ilion and 
joined his army, encamped at Arisba, crossed Percote, 
the river Praxie, Hermote, Coione, and arrived, in order 
of battle, upon the banks of the Granicus. 

The Persian cavalry, arranged on the opposite side, 
formed a considerable line, to occupy the passage in its 
widest part. 

Parmenion, and many other captains, advised Alexander 
to encamp upon this spot, that his troops might rest them- 
selves ; and to pass the river early on the following morn- 
ing, since the enemy would be then less able to oppose 
them. They represented to him that the river was deep, 
and the shores rocky — that the enterprise was dangerous 
— and that, if he failed of success, every thing was at 
stake. These arguments made no impression on the 
mind of Alexander. He replied, that he should be over- 
powered with shame if, after having crossed the Helles- 
pont, he should stop before a rivulet : so contemptuously 
he spoke of the Granicus. 

Alexander then mounted his horse, and ordered his 
principal officers to follow him. He commanded the 



right wing, and Parmenion the left. He had previously 
caused a large detachment to push across the river, when 
he ordered the left wing to advance. At the head of 
the right, he immediately plunged into the stream, and 
was followed by the rest of the troops, trumpets sound- 
ing, and with the acclamations of the whole army. 
After having stemmed the rapidity of the river, and 
overcome every obstacle that awaited him on the oppo- 
site shore, he repulsed the enemy, became master of the 
field, and, animating his soldiers by his presence, gained 
one of the most glorious victories which this conqueror 
has left to the remembrance of posterity. 

The picture of the pass of the Granicus is painted 
upon canvas — it is sixteen feet high, by thirty w^ide. It 
was ordered by Louis XIV. to decorate the Gallery of 
Apollo at the Louvre. The action is represented with 
great spirit, the movements are noble and animated, the 
drawing in a grand style, and the groups artfully distri- 
buted. The disorder of a battle is well expressed, but 
without confusion. Alexander preserves, in the hour of 
danger, the calmness of a hero accustomed to victory. 

This fine painting, in which the costume is well ob- 
served, a perfection rarely observed in the time of Le 
Brun, would be beyond criticism, if the figures were less 
round, and if the toucli had all the firmness which might 
be expected from so energetic a painter. 



Darius Cadomanus, the twelfth and last king of Per- 
^ia, judged it necessary to march in person against Alexan- 
der, who was advancing with all the rapidity of a conqueror. 
The army of Darius, consisting of 600;000 men, going 
to battle with all the luxury and preparation of a pom- 
pous ceremony, were unable, at Issus, to stand against 
the veteran troops of the son of Philip. This memorable 
day completed his glory. Darius, obliged to fly under 
the favour of the night, abandoned his camp, his trea- 
sures, and his family, which remained in the power of 
the conqueror. Alexander, accompanied by Hephestion, 
his favourite, went to visit these august captives, and 
treated them with the kindness of a father, and the mag- 
nificence of a king. 

Alexander and Hephestion having entered the tent of 
the princesses, they all prostrated themselves before the 
latter, whom Sysigambis, the mother of Daiius, took for 
the king, deceived by the magnificent dress and noble air 
of the Macedonian captain. On discovering her error, 
she wished to make an excuse ; ^^ No, my mother," re- 
plied the conqueror, ^' you have not been mistaken ; this 
is another Alexander." Such is the subject of this picture. 

This heroic and affecting scene explains itself on the 
view of the simple sketch. Near Sysigambis is seen the 
queen, the wife of Dariu.S; on her knees, presenting" 


her young son to the victor ; behind her is Statira, in 
tears, with her young sister, both of them the daughters 
of Darius. A numerous train of women, priests, and eu- 
nuchs, express, by their different movements and the 
change in their countenances, the sentiments of fear, hope, 
and admiration, with which they are penetrated. 

This picture, which is considered as the master-piece 
of Le Brun, is remarkable for the richness of its ordon- 
nance, the exactness and variety of its costume, the noble- 
ness of the forms, the dignity of the characters, and the 
truth of expression. A more luminous etfect, a more de- 
licate and more varied colouring, and a less uniform touch, 
would doubtless place this celebrated painting above all 

Le Brun painted this picture at the most brilliant epoch 
of his talents; and found the favour he already enjoyed 
under Louis XIV. encreased by it. This monarch wish- 
ing to see him at work, that he might himself judge of 
his abilities, ordered him to Fontainebleau, where he was 
in 1661, and required of him such a picture cis he would 
like to paint, leaving the choice of the subject to himself. 
An apartment was assigned to him in the castle, adjoin- 
ing that of his majesty, who came almost every day to 
inspect his work ; and was no less charmed with the un- 
derstanding, manners, and conversation of the painter 
than with the productions of his genius. It is thus that 
Le Brun executed, as we may say under the eye of Louis 
XIV. this famous picture of the Family of Darius, of 
which Edelinck has made an admirable engraving. 

T.l.Bu.th7' sr!,lf>. 


IcTiJ/^lJ^tiduJttJ In/ Verrwr.ITooil .(• .C;.??^.-. 7'.vt7fr!i 



This picture, wbich has been long esteemed one of the 
finest of the modern school, has been restored to the 
church St. Roch, of which it was formerly one of the 
principal ornaments. It decorated the altar of a chapel, 
dedicated to St. Genevieve des Ardem. 

St. Genevieve, the patroness of Paris, was implored 
by the inhabitants of that city, at the time of a conta- 
gious malady, known by the name of the feu mere, with 
which it was afflicted, under the reign of Louis VI. in 
the year 1120. The painter has laid the scene before the 
door of an hospital: a female, whose apparel announces 
her of distinguished birth, upon her knees, seems to put 
her infant under the protection of the saint, of whom the 
contagion is on the point of depriving her. On the right 
hand, and beiiind the group of women who support her, a 
diseased person, whom her attendants would restrain, em- 
ploys her remaining strength to effect her escape ; — and 
extending her arms towards heaven, endeavours to unite 
in public prayer. Above the clouds, St. Genevieve is 
perceived soHciting the blessing of heaven, surrounded by 
angels, bearing iheir proper attributes. 

The fore-ground of the picture presents another scene 
of grief. A youth, in the prime of his age, expires in the 


arms of an old man ; beside him are extended several 
victims, who have fallen under this calamity. 

This work, the composition of which is as energetic 
as the subject is interesting, has been executed in a pro- 
portion greater than nature; it is regarded as the chef- 
d'oeuvre of Doyen. 

fainted by tdrb DoLi . 

JSiigraved fy t'Mr^e, il^okt. 

Chnsf-m tiu Cnzrdm 

ridon:£kblijhed by Veriuh-,'Hb!>i,& SharpeJi'auLcry, Dec'J.J-BoS ■ 



^^ And he came out, and went, as he was wont, to the 
mount of Olives : and his disciples also followed him. 

" And when he was at the place, he said unto them, 
Pray that ye enter not into temptation. 

" And he was withdrawn from them about a stone cast, 
and kneeled down and prayed, 

" Saying, Father, if thou be willing, remove this 
cup from me : nevertheless, not my will but thine be 

" And there appeared an angel unto him from heaven, 
strengthening him. 

" And, being in an agon}', he prayed more earnestly, 
and his sweat was as great drops of blood falling down to 
the ground." St. Luke, Chap xxii. 

Such is the sublime and interesting subject of the pic- 
ture before us, which Dolce has admirably represented. 
The head of Christ is replete with sentiment, and the 
composure and resignation of the holy personage ably 
pourtrayed, notwithstanding the agitation and the suffer- 
ings he undergoes. There are few figures of our Saviour 


of which the head is designed with equal dignity. Tlie 
angel who presents him the cup, and the cross, the in- 
strument of his punishment, is not attired with taste, but 
the expression and attitude are happily imagined. 

This picture, of which the figures are of small pro- 
portion, is executed with care, without being exquisitely 
finished. The colouring is harmonious, and of a pleasing 
effect, without offering those factitious tones, which, al- 
though highly striking, are not esteemed by real con- 

Many persons have attributed this picture to Jacopo 
Ligozzi ; but the reputation acquired by Dolce, in the re- 
presentation of religious subjects, and especially the ta- 
lent with which he has expressed, in various productions, 
the sufferings of Christ, induce us to think that this pic- 
ture is from his pencil. 

Gerard, pint- 

T.r^.nu.-:<v .Miff 

Li>ndon,PublU'h'd by Vanor Hood & Skarpe ,Toulny ^A ■'' 



Having, in our description of the Belisarius by David, 
given some account of that illustrious, but unhappy war- 
rior, it is here unnecessary to resume the subject. 

The picture before us offers an episode in the life of 
that unfortunate hero ; but this episode is not founded 
upon any historical tradition; it is purely the invention 
of the painter, and presents no inconsiderable portion of 
genius. Belisarius, the victim of the jealousy of the 
great, and of the ingratitude of the Emperor Justinian, 
whose power he confirmed, is at length despoiled of his 
riches, deprived of his sight, and, upon his return to his 
former possessions, finds himself reduced to implore the 
aid and pity of those that pass by. The young companion 
of his misfortunes has just been wounded by a serpent, 
which is observed attached to its prey, and, instead of 
being able to guide the steps of Belisarius, becomes in 
reality an afflicting burthen to the old man. The youth 
appears to be on the point of death. Belisarius, with one 
hand, presses him to his bosom, and with the other holds 
his staff, the only support now left him in his misery, and 
endeavours to trace the road which he ought to follows 
But the sun has already set behind the mountains, the 
horizon becomes dark, and Belisarius, bewildered, is seen 
treading upon the borders of a precipice. 


Those who heheld the original picture in the exhibition, 
some years since, will recollect the marked and vigorous 
expression of Belisarius. The hero seems sensible of the 
horror of his situation, but, superior to all danger, re- 
tains his presence of mind. The group projects from a 
bright and luminous sky. The cloak of Belisarius is red — 
bis tunic green. The opposition of light and shade pro- 
duces an uncommon effect, which is strengthened by the 
interest of the subject and the beauty of its exectttion. 

Enamved !»• Oetyrve Cooke. 



The artist has borrowed the subject of the picture 
before us from an IdylHum of Gessner. 

Two young men conduct their father, greatly ener- 
vated by disease, towards the statue of Esculapius. Their 
sister, in the bloom of youth and beauty, contemplates 
with a degree of surprise, intermixed with pleasure, the 
serpent who is discovered eating the fruit which is placed 
upon the altar. This action, according to the pious 
ideas of the ancients, announces that the offering had 
been favourably received by the gods. 

This interesting composition recals to the memory of 
the spectator, various beautiful pictures which have es- 
tablished the reputation of this young and ingenious 
painter. In it are observable, that dignified simplicity, 
correctness of design, tenderness of expression, and 
freedom of pencil, by which the works of M. Guerin are 


This picture was painted in the year 10, (1802,) imme- 
diately after his celebrated picture of Phaedra, which 
obtained a considerable prize. 



Thts pictni'e, which established the repwtationi of its 
auth&r, was exhibited in the Saloon, at the Lo^Tvre, in 
the year 1^, (180§) and afterwards piifchased by govern- 
ment, who caused it to be wroiaght in tapestry. 

Buonaparte is easily distinguished ; his expression is 
that of calmness and beneficence ; his attitude is simple 
and dignified, and the whole figure bears the most de- 
cided character. The lx?tter to represent the danger of 
Buonaparte, upon this occasion, the artist has placed 
behind him two officers; one of them holds an handker- 
chief to his mouth, and the other, enveloped in his cloak, 
withdraws from the infectious scene. Between the ge- 
neral and the diseased person whom he touches, and 
who regards him with emotion, rs the principal physician 
to the army, M. Desgencttes, no less celebrated for his 
ability than his courage. The sentiment, operating on 
his mind, is ably pourtrayed ; he is apprehensive lest 
Buonaparte should fall a prey to the afflicting malady, 
whrcPr he eiicoun-ters with too much confidence. On his 
knees, and before this figure, a soldier, of the 18th bri- 
gade, discovers the same fear ; he forgets his own suffer- 
ings in contemplating the peril to which his general k 
exposed, whom he seems anxious should retire. The 
figtire of an infected person, whose wounds are dressed 
by two Turkish physicians, unites very happily with this 
group, as does that of an old soldier, leaning upon his 

crutch. Nearly on the same grotiDcl a Frenchman, af- 
flicted with the ophtalinia, common to those climates, 
hearing the voice of his general, approaches to the place 
from whence it issued. The fore-ground presents an- 
other scene. A young surgeon, the victim of his hu- 
manity, appears in a swoon, attacked by the malady, 
from which he was desirous of saving the unfortunate 
person expiring at his feet. The painter has devoted the 
other part of his picture to the expression of the symp- 
toms, and^ the disastrous effects, of the pestilence. A 
victim, extended upon the ground, rends his hair, while 
the contraction of his limbs exhibits the excess of his 
sufferings. The features of another person, who rises to 
behold Buonaparte, evinces that he has recovered from 
a similar attack. A third is motionless, his head sup- 
ported by his hands, and appears insensible to the scene 
that is passing around hur.. Further on, two officers, 
one of whom is blind, re(*eives, with gratitude, the 
bread distributed by the 'j'urks. One of them indicates 
to the sufferer^ the siicconrs tljat have been given to 
them by the commander in chief. Behind this group, 
two slaves carry away the bod}^ of an afflicted person, of 
whom only the legs are visible. 

In this extensive composition the artist has omitted 
nothing that could explain the subject, and shew the 
place where the action passes. The architecture of the 
Orientals, the burning sky of Syria, and the position of 
the city cf Jaffa, are rciidered with the greatest exactness. 
The colouring is beaaliful, the design vigorous and bold ; 
the draperies of the Asi. tics, and the Cf ;aks of the sol- 
diers, present large folds and fine masses, and the tout 
ensemble exhibits the pencil of a master destined to be- 
come a proficient in his ai t. 




It is surprising that an artist like Holbein, who became 
an admirable painter without the assistance of a good 
master, and without witnessing any chef-d'oeuvre in paint- 
ing, should not have been sensible of the impropriety of 
representing Abraham in the costume of the sixteenth 
century, and that the places he exhibited could not he 
decorated with steeples. Such gross anachronisms can 
scarcely be palliated by the numerous beauties of the com- 

On the fore ground of the picture, Abraham having 
reached the foot of the mountain, separates himself from 
the servants who accompanied him, and loads his son 
with the w^ood necessary for the sacrifice. At a distance 
they are both discovered ascending the mountain ; — the 
patriarch carrying fire and a sword. At the top of the 
mountain he is on the point of striking his son, extended 
on the pile, when an angel restrains his arm. 

Nothing so much destroys illusion as the reunion of se- 
veral scenes in the same picture : and this defect is here 
rendered the more striking, from the aerial perspective 
being so little visible, that the three groups seem to be 
too closely connected. A light and free pencil, a trans- 
parent, lively, and harmonious colouring, constitute the 
merit of this production, which betrays, nevertheless, a 


degree of dryness in certain details, and of which the de- 
sign is only an imitation of common nature. From this 
reproach the head of Isaac, in the fore-ground, is to be 
excepted, the character of which is pleasing and inter- 
esting : the attitude of this figure, has, moreover, con- 
siderable grace. 

a/ic^i ea/i J'^^<i.('//-a/ia>-^/'<- 

Zanami.PtibUshed iy Vb- 



This portrait, given by Buonaparte to the city of 
Ghent, was painted in the beginning of the year 12,(1804,) 
at the desire of M. Denon, principal director of the cen- 
tral museum of the Arts. It is on this account that he 
is represented in the costume of the chief consul. 

The Emperor is represented on foot, his right hand 
pointing to one of the papers with which the table is 
covered. The back-ground displays the interior of an 

The coat is of raised velvet, embroidered with gold ; 
the waistcoat and the pantaloons are of white velvet, 
equally enriched with embroidery; the carpet is green, 
with a gold border; the chair gilt, and of an antique 
form. The ground of the picture is of a single vague 
tone, and sufficiently dark. 

The artist, who has acquired considerable reputation, 
as a portrait painter, has executed this picture with par- 
ticular care. It has, moreover, the peculiar merit of 
being an exact resemblance ; and is remarkable for vigour 
of colouring, brilliancy, and harmony of effect, 



Four other painters, M. M. Greuze, Meynier, Gros, 
and Madame Benoit, have heen likewise commissioned 
by M. Denon, to paint the portrait of the Emperor 
Buonaparte, as a present to different cities. 

, ^v; ^i/u - 

i'.xnitj s>x^o 

'^Ut^rM'U,0€tZ . 1 



Hannibal, shut up in his chamber, hears the ap- 
proach of the Roman soldiers, commissioned to seize his 
person. His retreat being cut off, he determines to 
take away his hfe. Apprehensive of his danger, he re- 
jects the prayers of a slave, who, upon his knees, entreats 
him not to take the fatal poison ; and, putting the cup 
to his hps, he appears to pronounce the following words, 
" Rome shall be delivered from the terror which I inspire; 
of the degeneracy of the people, this day exhibits suffi- 
cient proof. Their fathers had the generosity to caution 
Pyrrhus to beware of a traitor who threatened his life ; 
they have now the baseness to engage Prusias to destroy 
his guest and his friend." He swallowed a subtle 
poison, which he had, for a length of time, carried about 
him, and expired in the 70th year of his age. 

Such is the subject of the present picture, in which, to 
shew the peril of the Carthaginian chieftain, the artist 
has placed in the back-ground the Roman eagles. 

The expression of Hannibal is striking and profound; 
that of the slave presents, by its naivete, a judicious 
contrast to the tranquil character of the hero. The 
basso-relievo, at the top of the picture, recalls to the 
memory the battle of Cannae, and the rings of the Ro- 
man knights, deposited at the feet of the conqueror, 



and proves that M. Le Mire did not begin his subject 
without previous study. We can only accuse him of 
representing Hannibal somewhat younger than history 
reports him. 

The drawing of this picture, of which the figures are 
bf the natural size, is noble and correct, the colouring 
harmonious, and the execution highly finished. The 
draperies are in good style, and the accessaries painted 
with considerable taste. 


Tc^'tavin.pnx- ^ 


Z jndjn.Hd/LisTi'd In' Yemcr .Siiod. He SI. 



Two particular laws were imposed on the priestesses 
of Vesta — attention to the holy fire, and to observe the 
greatest continence. She who, by her negligence, suf- 
fered the sacred flame to become extinct, was severely 
scourged by the high priest; but the punishment was 
inflicted in an obscure place, and the Vestal was veiled. 

Those who violated their virginity received a capital 
punishment. Numa condemned them to be stoned. A 
posterior iavy eajoined that they should be decapitated; 
and it is believed that Tarquin the elder established the 
custom of burying them alive: this punishment was, 
for the first time, carried into effect under his reign. 
Two sisters, convicted of incest, obtained the privilege 
of Domitian to chuse the manner of their death. An- 
other was condemned to be precipitated fr^m the summit 
of a rock ; she fell without doing herself an injury: they 
had, however, the cruelty to renew the execution. 

The Vestals were sometimes exposed to the torture, 
and when the proof of their crime appeared to be suffi- 
ciently established, votes were collected before punish- 
ment was pronounced. 

The day appointed for the punishment the religious 
chief, followed by the pontiffs, went to the teiuple of the 

goddess, where he despoiled the guilty person of her 
ornaments, with every mark of degradation. 

After having bound her with cords they caused her 
to ascend a litter, closed on every side, in order that her 
cries might not be heard, and in this state she w^as led to 
punishment. The friends of the priestess had permission 
to follow her. The procession moved on slowly, and 
with the ucmost silence. The day was regarded by the 
people as unfortunate, and they refrained from being 
upon the road when this dreadful ceremony was to pass. 

Arrived at the gate Collina, the Vestal was delivered 
into the hands of the executioners upon the tomb destined 
to receive her. This tomb was a subterraneous cavity, 
of the form of a long square, into which the offender was 
compelled to descend by means of a ladder; and hav- 
ing seated her on a bed, adjoining which was a table, 
a lighted lamp, a small quantity of oil, bread, milk, and 
water; they closed the opening to the vault, and covered 
it with earth. Such was the ceremony of these horrid 
executions. The author of the picture before us has fol- 
lowed the descriptions given of them by various authors, 
with much interest and effect. 




In the book of Kings it is related, that Saul, anxious 
to learn the issue of a battle which he was on the point of 
giving to the Philistines, addressed the Lord, who replied 
to him, neither by prophecies, by priests, nor by vision. 
Saul then sought an old prophetess, who lived at Endor. 
This woman, at his entreaty, caused the ghost of Samuel 
to appear before him. This spectre announced to the 
king of the Hebrews that God had abandoned him, and 
that David would become possessor of his kingdom. 

A subject so picturesque suited perfectly the lively and 
fertile imagination of Salvator Rosa. The witch, hideous 
of figure, and with hair erect, throws incense upon a 
tripod. Around her, skeletons, owls, and various phan- 
toms are visible. The shade of Samuel, enveloped in a 
white drapery, stands before Saul. The king, on his 
knees, hears with fear and astonishment, the unpropitious 
prophecy. In the back ground, two warriors are seen, 
who, according to the sacred writings, accompanied Saul 
on this occasion. 

All the parts of the picture concur in the effect which 
the painter was desirous of producing. The drawing is 
somewhat rude and spirited — the colouring sombre, and 
as it were mysterious — and the execution bold. The 


only fault in this picture is, that Salvator Rosa has 
given modern armour to Saul, and the two Israelites. 

This picture, the figures of which are of the natural 
size, has long decorated the apartments of the palace at 

A. l:^^/..oc. 

].c<ndon:nibli.9h:d by Yerrwr.Heod .i~ Slmrpe.FouloyjSod. 



Historians make mention of several deluges. In 
the Group J by Clodion, on the same subject, we detailed 
their various opinions, and the tradition of different 
people, to whicli the reader is referred. 

Regnault, in representing an episode of this disastrous 
event, had it not in contemplation to recal the Deluge of 
Noah. He would otherwise have placed in his picture 
the ark, in which this patriarch saved himself and his 
family, his servants, and animals of every kind. The 
artist seems disposed simply to offer certain personages 
to our view. We behold these unfortunate people on the 
point of being buried under the waves, whose fury has 
exhausted their strength. One of them is already dead. 
Another, possessing greater vigour, carries his father upon 
his shoulders; and, laden with the precious burthen, en- 
deavours to reach the top of a mountain, the base of 
which is covered with water. They cast a desponding 
look upon the female they are incapable of saving, who 
employs her last efforts to raise her child from the sur- 
rounding element, and to prolong its days. 

This picture, during its exhibition, was beheld with 
emotion, and warmly applauded. The execution corre- 
spoads with the poetical idea conceived by the author^ 


whicli is developed with no less energy than grace. In 
this composition the great beauties of painting, expres- 
sion, design, and colouring, are united with the happiest 

£"u7i\v\:d h C-fcroe. r<jjk<: 



The Graces, otherwise called the Charities, were, ac- 
cording to the most received opinion, the daughters of 
Bacchus and Venus; according to others, of the Sun and 
Aglaia, or of Jupiter and Juno, or of that god and Eury- 
nome. The Athenians and Lacedemonians acknowledged 
but two; in other parts of Greece they admitted four; 
but the majority of the Poets have fixed their number to 
three, whom they call Aglaia, Thaha, and Euphrosine. 
They were the companions of V^enus,- and the goddess of 
beauty was indebted to them for those charms and attrac- 
tions which caused suhmission to her sway. The ancients 
attributed to these beneficent deities the most precious 
of all gifts; gaiety, evenness of temper, sweetness of man- 
ners, liberality, eloquence and wisdom. They also pre- 
sided over beneficence and gratitude, 

Eteocles, king of Orchomenes, was the first who raised 
a temple and altars to them; others say it was Lacedemon, 
fourth king of the Lacedemonians. They received the 
same homage at Elis Delphos, Perge Perinthus, Byzan- 
tium, &c. They had temples in common, with other dei- 
ties, as Cupid, Mercury, and the Muses. 

Greece was filled with pictures, statues, inscriptions, and 
medals which attested their worship. There was at Perga- 
mus a picture of these goddesses painted by Pythagoras of 
Paros; another at Smyrna, by Apelles. Socrates had 
their statues carved in marble, and Bupalus in gold. 



Their symbols werenuiirerous; at first they were only 
represented by mere rude stones, afterwards in human 
forms, clothed with light transparent dresses; and latterly 
quite naked. 

They were represented young, because agreeableness 
has been always looked upon as the attribute of youth; 
little, and of a slender shape, because their attractions 
consist in trifles ; a gesture, a smile, &c. Although they 
were considered as virgins, Homer gives husbands to two 
of these divinities, and unites them to the dull god of 
Sleep, and the deformed Vulcan. The statues of the 
Graces were to be seen at Elis; one held a rose, the other 
a branch of myrtle, plants particularly consecrated to 
Venus; the third a die, in token of the inclination of 
youth to sports and pleasure. They were sometimes re- 
presented in the midst of the most frightful satyrs: often- 
times the statues of the latter were hollow, and on 
opening them, were found little figures of the Graces. 
It was to these emblematic statues that Socrates used to 
compare himself, meaning thence to inculcate that we 
are not to judge of men by their appearance, and that 
an ill favoured exterioi', sometimes conceals the gifts of 
the soul and the charms of the mind. 

The picture of the three Graces, of which this plate 
presents a sketch, was painted by Regnault, and exhibit- 
ed in the work-shop of the artist at the Louvre, with 
those of Hercules taking Alcestes from Hell, and the Death 
of Cleopatra. This of the three Graces is in its size a 
little below half nature; it unites purity of contour, fine-r 
ness of colouring, charm of expression, and a neat and 
liarmonious effect. The back ground is of a vague tone, 
and presents nothing accessary. 

ZoTidcn.-Jhibhsh'J b/Terru}rjni;ad S: Sharpe .Tna 



iiOUis XIII. and Mary de Medicis, his mother, tes- 
tify to each other in Heaven, the strongest marks of 
affection. Beside them Charity appears, pressing an 
infant to her bosom : a divinity, the emblem of Prudence, 
is also present. On the other side of the picture is a 
woman, whose attributes indicate the French govern- 
ment. Courage, with a thunder-bolt in her hand, preci- 
pitates to the bottom of an abyss, the Hydra, which gave 
birth to their internal dissentions. 

The principal light falls upon the queen i the freshness 
of the carnations, and the white satin robe, give a bril- 
liancy to this part of the picture which is but seldom 
found in the works of Rubens. The figure of the kins: is 
boldly coloured, and has the merit of resemblance. To 
these noble and quiescent personages, the artist has op- 
posed the colossal form of the Hydra. In the represen- 
tation of this ideal being, Rubens has displayed the 
fertility of his imagination. The drawing is spirited 
and ferocious, the colouring lively ; and, the masterly 
style with which it is executed, produces the happiest 

This animated composition would have appeared still 
more beautiful, had Rubens adopted hghter models for 


his female figures. That of the queen is the only one 
remarkable for any degree of elegance. 

This picture forms part of the series of painting, by 
Rubens, for the Luxembourgh Gallery, 

6^4'ta^ /^k<^W< 

'd la- Verrwt-.lTood Sc Sharpc.Ccullr^-.iScS. 



This picture, the subject of which is too well known to 
require any explanation, is remarkable for a species of 
Anachronism, very common to religious pictures. This 
imperfection we have so frequently had occasion to no- 
tice, that it would be needless here to advert to it. Some 
pious founder, no doubt, recommended the subject, and 
Rubens felt it his duty to comply with his wishes. 

In point of execution this picture has all the merit 
that distinguishes the works of the celebrated master 
who produced them. Force and variety of expression, 
brilliancy of colouring, grandeur of effect, and beauty of 
touch — such are the principal qualities which Rubens 
possessed in a very eminent degree. Many of his dis- 
ciples attempted to imitate his manner, but they exhibited 
only the appearance ; and even those who approached 
the nearest to his style, have only transmitted to us 
what it presents the least agreeable. 

It is related as a singularity of Rubens, that he but 
rarely visited his best friends ; but he received those very 
cordially who came to his house, excusing himself on 
account of the multiplicity of affairs with which he was 
engaged. He, nevertheless, did not fail going to see the 



pictures of such painters as requested his advice ; and, 
far from being disposed to condemn the works of such 
artists as required his advice, he inspired in them a noble 
emulation, by approving of their endeavours. 

C-ZtA^uy^ (uzt/U-e^^-^ t/fe 

hi'n/1on:l'uhUsh'd ty Vmwrjiood i- Sharpe ,Pcu]tiy',i8o6. 



Rubens has neglected, in this composition, to unite 
to his subject the accessaries by which it is characterized. 
He was willing to be indebted only to the magic power of 
his art for the effect produced upon the spectators. 

The figure of Christ is one of the finest that has been 
delineated by the pencil of Rubens. The drawing is in a 
grand style, although in some respects wanting in dig- 
nity ; but the colouring ie eminently correct. The ex- 
pression and sentiment observable in this figure, and in 
those of the other personages, present beauties of a 
superior kind. By the paleness of the Virgin — her eyes 
full of tears — by the expression of grief depicted in her 
countenance — the mother of Jesus is readily distinguished. 
In the representation of pathetic sentiments the excel- 
lence of Rubens appears. St. John and the Magdalen, 
whose heads only are seen, express considerable affliction; 
but the artist, with his known attention to propriety, has 
been careful not to let their sufferings equal the maternal 
agony of Mar}^ Joseph of Arimathea is ably charac- 
terized, by his venerable aspect and the richness of 
his costume. The manner in which the colours are dis- 
tributed, contribute greatly to the effect of the picture. 
The white drapery which covers, in part, the body of 
Christ, forms, with the figure, a great mass of light. 
The green vestment of St. Nicodemus, the red robe and 


the blue tunic of the virgin, present vigorous tints, 
which contribute to bring forward the deadly paleness of 

There is no doubt but that this picture, which is exe^ 
cuted with so much fire and enthusiasm, is one of the 
small number painted entirely by the hand of Rubens. 
There is no single production, in which the qualities he 
possessed, such as a brilliant and correct colouring, much 
tenderness of expression and vigour of pencil, are carried 
to a higher degree of perfection. 

TL.BiL'fy ocul^. 

Londcn-I'uilWn'd by J'irnor Bbod & Shjj-ps,Pau2xry'.iSoS. 



The subject of the picture before us will be found in 
the first chapter of St. John. 

" And, in the sixth month, the angel Gabriel was sent 
from God unto a city of Galilee named Nazareth, 

*' To a virgin espoused to a man whose name was 
Joseph, of the house of David ; and the virgin's name 
was Mary. 

" And the angel came in unto her and said, Hail, thou 
that art highly favoured, the Lord is with thee : blessed 
art thou among women. 

" And the angel said unto her, Fear not, Mary, for 
thou hast found favour with God. 

" And behold, thou shalt conceive in thy womb, and 
bring forth a son, and shalt call his name JESUS. 

" And Mary arose, in those days, and went into the 
hill country, with haste, into a city of Juda ; 

'^ And entered into the house of Zacharias, and saluted 


" And it came to pass, that, when Elizabeth heard the 
salutation of Mary, the babe leaped in her womb ; and 
Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Ghost. 

" And she spake out, with a loud voice, and said. 
Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of 
thy womb. 

^^ And Mary abode with her about three months, and 
returned to her own house.'' -^ 

This picture, the figures of which are of the natural 
size, is remarkable for the freshness, delicacy, and trans^ 
parency of its colours. The composition is well executed, 
and the effect purely aerial. 




The subject of the present picture has been already 
given in the description of a picture by Rembrandt; re- 
presenting ^' Tobias and his Family prostrate before the 


This picture of Rubens presents considerable beauties, 
with some defects. The expression of the angel is ten- 
der and pleasing; and, if the attitude be not elegant, it 
is sufficiently correct for the species of nature chosen by 
the painter. 

The figure of young Tobit, less dignified than that of 
the celestial missionary, is ably drawn. The colouring is 
fresh, harmonious, and brilliant ; and the tree, the water, 
and the sky, are executed with great freedom of pencil. 
Rubens appears to have painted the fish with peculiar 
care : he has perfectly represented the rich and varied 
tints of its body, still wet w^ith its native element. 

This picture, as its form indicates, served as a wing to 
some larger production. It is about three feet and a half 
wide, by eight feet six inches high. 

-'. Tndon iPiUf linked }iy Vcmjcr.Hbod & SharpcFffuJoy. iS,->9 



The scene in the interior of a prison passes by torck 
light. The body of St. John the Baptist is extended on 
the ground. The executioner has just dissevered the 
head, which he presents to the daughter of Herod. An 
old female servant receives the bleeding head on a dish, 
and appears to congratulate her mistress on the death of 
her enemy. In the back ground an old soldier is observ- 
able, who appears concerned at the fate of the distin- 
guished victim. 

This picture is one of the two that were painted as 
wings to the Descent frora the Cross; to the form of which 
this great artist has been able to adapt his composition 
with infinite skill. The effect is admirably produced, — 
and by illuminating the dreary scene by a sombre and 
mysterious light, a poetical idea is excited. The head of 
St. John is noble; those of the executioners, and the old 
woman, have a character of lowness and ferocity, perfectly 
appropriate. The colour is glowing and vigorous. 

There are, however, some defects which injure the 
picture. The figure of Herodias is inelegant, and the 
feody of St. John appears colossal in comparison with 


the other figures. The severed neck, and the hlood 
which issues from it, present to the eye of the spectator 
objects of horror which Rubens, perhaps, ought to have 
withheld from observation. 

^ily <^.Kzriu(^-' 

Lcndon^FUth^ied . 



The Infant Jesus, lying in his cradle, caresses the 
child St. John; — they are contemplated by the Virgin, St. 
Ann, and Joseph, with inexpressible tenderness. Such 
is the subject of this eminent composition. 

This picture is remarkable for the freshness of its tints, 
and the harmony of its parts; but, in some respects, is 
deficient in dignity and correctness of design. 

It was taken from the Palace Pitti, at Florence, and is 
about three feet and a half high, by two feet and a half 

Since its removal to Paris it has been presented by 
government to the Museum at Dijon. 

Anecdote of Rubens. 

Rubens being desired to take under his instruction 
a young painter, the person who recommended him, in 
order to induce Rubens the more readily to receive him, 
said that he was already somewhat advanced in the art, 
and that he would be of immediate assistance in his back 
grounds. Rubens smiled at his simplicity, and told him. 


that if the youth was capable of painting his back grounds, 
he stood in no need of his instructions; that the regula- 
tion and management of them required the most com- 
prehensive knowledge of the art. 

This, it has been observed, painters know to be no 
exaggerated account of a back ground, being fully ap- 
prised how much the effect of a picture depends upon it» 



Le Sueur, in this picture, has followed no particular 
mythological tradition: his fertile and tasteful genius 
alont produced this charming composition. 

The scene passes in the heavens. Venus, in all her 
bloom of Beauty, addresses herself to Jupiter, and pre- 
sents him the youthful Cupid, who appears to be alarmed 
at the sight of the master of the gods. Jupiter, identi- 
fied by his crown, and by the eagle beside him, expresses 
his admiration and surprise. Juno, his sister and his 
wife, Neptune, armed with his trident and his head cover- 
ed with rushes, express likewise in a dignified, but ener- 
getic manner, the impression which the view of the in- 
fant excites. On a distant ground Diana is perceived, 
her forehead adorned with a crescent. Le Sueur has 
given to the figure an expression perfectly appertaining 
to this chaste goddess, which forms a happy contrast 
with those of the three other divinities. The attitude of 
Diana is thoughtful and disposed to melancholy. She 
appears to foresee the evils which the birth of love ishke- 
ly to occasion to the universe. It is by such ideas that 
an artist gives an interest to his subjects, and places paint- 
ing on a rank with poetry. 

The drawing of these figures is noble and correct. Le 


Sueur has avoided the disagreeable appearance which 
fore-shortening often produces. This picture formed part 
of the ceiling^ of a room in the hotel Lambert. The 
figures are about the proportion of three feet. 


— __ 


: — 

E Lc Sueur puu'. 

TL.Bu.s'by, sculp. 


r7<^c?^<:m. iTf'SuiyrC:^ la/i^/fncT^c^T/^ 

tcnden; Publish d bv VernorBood & Sharpe. Pcultrv i8o3 ■ 



The miraculous event here represented, passes in s 
church. The priests, and the people, surrounding the 
body of Raymond, were engaged in the accustomed 
prayers, when the dead personage, rising from his coffin, 
was heard to pronounce the following words : — Justo Dei 
judicio appellatus sum ; juslo Dei judicio judicatus sum ; 
justo Dei condemnatus sum. They are inscribed by Le 
Sueur, on the funeral pall, to render his subject the more 
intelligible. The chronicle adds, that St. Bruno, who 
witnessed this prodigy, resolved, from that moment, to 
embrace a monastic life. 

Although the form adopted by Le Sueur, in this series 
of pictures, seems detrimental to the happy execution of 
this individual composition, in which a number of figures 
should be placed, this celebrated artist has had the in- 
genuity to depicture, without ccnfiision, all the circum« 
stances attending the event. The physiognomy of Ray- 
mond, is of a terrific expression. The spectators betray 
emotions suitable to their age and condition. Horror is 
strongly marked on the face, and in the attitude, of the 
chorister, whose book falls from his hands. The priest 
partakes of the general consternation ; but Le Sueur has 
distinguished the other personages, by giving them more 
gravity and composure. St, Bruno, seen in profile, on 


the right of the picture, seems lost in reflection, on the 
subUmity of the judgment of God. 

If the charm of colouring be not eminently apparent 
in the pictures of Le Sueur, they present, nevertheless, 
much simplicity and naivete of tone ; and are executed 
with great freedom of pencil and effect. 

L^Tndon.hiilisltd h- VenuirjEOfod < 



This composition, which is justly regarded as one of 
the best of the series of pictures painted by Le Sueur 
to decorate the convent of the chartreux, at Paris, is 
the thirteenth of that noble and interesting collection. 

The pope is represented seated upon his throne. Be- 
side him are several cardinals, one of whom reads the 
orders of the institution of the chartreux ; the others 
confer together, and communicate their sentiments on 
the subject. 

The sanction granted b}^ the sovereign pontiff to the 
establishment of St. Bruno, ought not to be forgotten in 
the life of this Saint ; but the subject admitting onl}'' in- 
active personages, and no marked and decided expres- 
sion, the artist, it should seem, incurred the risk of being 
cold and monotonous. But these difficulties Le Sueur 
has overcome. He has given to Victor III. all the dig- 
nity suitable to the dignity of the church, and a charac- 
ter, for benignity, truly remarkable. The cardinals are 
drawn in various attitudes, but with appropriate gravity. 

The drawing of this picture is eminently correct. The 
draperies are thrown together with considerable elegance; 
and the architecture displays much simplicity and good 



The birth-place of St. Lawrence if not known. His 
•virtues, from his youth, attracted the affection of St. 
Sixtus, tlien archdeacon of Rome ; who, being elected 
pope in the year 257, appointed him deacon, and chief 
of the seven faithful servants of the church. St. Law- 
rence had -likewise the charge of the holy treasure, and 
distributed its revenues among the poor. The emperor 
Valerian having published an edict of proscription against 
the christians, St. Sixtus v/as put to death. Before he 
expired, he predicted that St. Lawrence would speedily, 
in his turn, receive the crown of martyrdom. At that 
time St. Lawrence being ordered, by the Prefect of Rome, 
ta send him the money committed to his care, he pre- 
sented to him the indigent people whom he had assisted. 
*^ Behold," said he, " in the persons of these poor men, 
the treasure you require.'* Irritated at these words, the 
Prefect condemned him to a most cruel death. Stripped 
of his clothing, the Saint was placed upon a gridiron, and 
sentenced slowly to suffer the punishment of fire. St. 
Lawrence, ^mid the most agonizing torments, retained 
his usual composure. He prayed that God would con- 
vert the Romans; and his prayer, before his death, was 
even in part granted. Many senators, who witnessed hi5 
punishment, embraced a religion which filled its fol- 
lowers tvith the sublimest sentiments, and buried, with 
due solemnity, the remains of the holy deacon, on the 
yoadjeading to Tibur. 


The picture of Titian is one of the best painted on this 
subject. The figure is noble, and well-conceived ; and 
the fore-shortenings skilfully pourtraved. The execu- 
tioneri have a ferocious character, suitable to their em- 
ploy. The artist has increased the interest which the 
Saint inspires, by the introduction, in his picture, of a 
soldier ; who, by means of a fork, keeps him upon the 
iron ; and augments his sufferings. But what is to be 
particularly admired in this composition is the effect of 
the flame and smoke ; which, mingling with the clouds, 
impress upon the work a sort of mysterious horror. 

It was necessary to possess, in an eminent degree, the 
knowledge of the principles of chiaro-scuro, not to hesi^ 
tate to employ in this picture so many different lights, of 
which the reflections are difficult to express. The 
general harmony which pervades this work, by sur- 
mounting of this difficulty, renders it a master-piece of 
art. The figures are of the natural size. This picture 
was removed from the church of the Jesuits at Venice. 
Titian painted the same subject for the king of Spain, 
without any considerable alterations. 

'' .i/:N 



The courage of Mark Antony — his errors — the distin- 
guished character he supported — and his miserable death, 
render him one of the most important personages in his- 
tory. During the civil wars he espoused the cause of 
Caesar, and escaped from Rome, disguised as a slave, in 
order to join him, C^sar, delighted with his zeal, gave 
him his entire confidence. At Pharsalia, where the sove- 
reignty of the world was disputed, Mark Antony had the 
command of the left wing. He was afterwards general, 
and consul. It is well known, that Antony offered pub- 
licly the crown to Ctesar, and that this action, precon- 
certed among themselves, was one of the causes of the 
death of the dictator. After this event Antony excited 
the populace to pursue his murderers, and he would have 
succeeded his friend in the supreme power, had not Oc- 
tavius, the adopted son of Caesar, disputed it with him. 
Become now declared enemies, they gave each other battle 
under the walls of ^lodena. Antony performed prodigies 
of valour; but was in the end defeated. A little time 
after, these rivals became reconciled, and formed, with 
Lepidus, that famous triumvirate, which cost the Ro- 
mans so much bloodshed. Antony afterwards gained the 
battle of Philippi, in which Brutus and Cassius were 
overcome. The avengers of the death of Caesar, after 
that day, became masters of the v>'orld. This Antony 
divided with his colleagues, taking, as his portion, Greece, 


Macedonia, Syria, and Asia. It was at this period that the 
charms of Cleopatra, Queen of Egypt, obtained such as- 
cendancy over his mind, and caused his ruin. He carried 
his love for this princess to a pitch of extravagance, and 
separated himself from Octavia, sister of Octavius. The 
fatal battle of Actium delivered the latter from a redoubt- 
able coadjutor. Cleopatra fled, and Antony renounced 
the victory to follow her footsteps. Abandoned by his 
friends, betrayed by his mistress, who caused a false ac 
count of her death to be communicated to him, he 
stabbed himself with his sword ; and upon learning that 
she was living, he desired to be conveyed before her, that 
he might expire in her arms. Cleopatra having fruit- 
lessly endeavoured to captivate Octavius, poisoned her- 
self with an asp, to avoid the disgrace of being dragged 
at the car of the conqueror. 

The liberty taken by A. Veronese, to represent at the 
same moment the death of Mark Antony and that of 
Cleopatra, is by no means excusable, as being foreign 
to the historical fact. The picture presents defects of 
another species. The drawing of the figure of Mark An- 
tony is wanting in correctness and dignity ; and although 
the heads of some of the females possess expression, the 
generality of the personages assisting at the melancholy 
catastrophe, appear not to be sufficiently concerned. 
Nevertheless, the size of the composition, the freedom 
of pencil observable in it, and its pleasing details, stamp a 
value upon the w^ork; which is, moreover, one of the 
artist's best productions. This picture is in the collection 
of the Hotel de Toulouse at Paris. 



The circumstance of William Tell precipitating into 
the waters Gesler and his partizans, is well known : but, 
occupying, as it does, an important point in the history 
of the Swiss, it may not be improper to relate some of 
the circumstances that preceded it, for the better ex- 
planation of the subject chosen by the painter. 

After a long series of dissentions, the Helvetic cities, 
to avoid new afflictions, and to secure themselves from 
the oppression which they had undergone, began, to- 
wards the year 1245, to form, among themselves, certain 
regulations; and made choice of protectors, among the 
most powerful and respected of the neighbouring chiefs. 

The assistance of Rodolpho d'Hapsbourg was particu- 
larly implored. The greater part of these cities having 
placed themselves, in 1257, under the safeguard of that 
prince, consented to receive, from his hands, captains and 
governors, and assigned to him certain revenues as the 
price of his protection. Rodolpho acquiesced in these 
wishes, and obtained, a little time after, by this power- 
ful succour, the imperial dignity. 

The conduct of Albert, son and successor of Rodolpho, 
was, v/ith respect to the Helvetians," in direct opposition 
to that of his father, Desirous of converting into servi« 


iude, the voluntary obedience they paid to him, he sent 
for their government officers, who fell into all his views, 
by raising intestine commotions. 

On the 18th of November, 1307, Herman Gesler, 
bailiff of Uri, among other indignities, had the audacity, 
in the public market of Altorff, to hang his cap upon a 
pole, and to enjoin the passengers to salute it, under pain 
of death. William Tell, of Burghen, in the canton of Uri, 
having disregarded this order, Gesler paused him to be 
arrested: butfearins: the commotions which this atrocious 
act might excite, and the resentment of the relatives and 
friends of William Tell, he did not dare to retain him in 
the prison of Uri. He conducted him across the lake in 
open defiance of the law, which interdicted the transpor- 
tation of prisoners, out of their country. 

They had scarcely left the banks of the lake, when a 
southerly wind blew, with uncommon violence, through the 
defiles of mount Gothard : the lake, which in that part 
was extremely narrow and deep, pushed its waters against 
the rocks, where they broke with the utmost fury. Be- 
ing in imminent peril, Gesler ordered the cords, by which 
Tell was bound, to be removed. Tell was known to be 
an excellent boatman; and, by his address, they reached 
Luzemberg. Here Tell leapt from the boat, upon an 
even rock, and, upsetting the bark with his foot, Gesler 
and his companions were immediately precipitated into 
the lake. Gesler, however, saved himself from the storm ; 
but on landing at Kusnacht, as he was proceeding 
through a narrow pass. Tell shot at him with an arrow, 
which instantly deprived him of life. 



During the minority of Louis XIV. and the admini* 
stration of Cardinal Mazarin, an insurrection of the most 
serious kind broke out in Paris. The people were op- 
pressed with taxes — the salaries of the officers of par- 
liament had been withheld — and two parties excited 
terror, under the names of the Frondeiirs and the Maza- 

On the l6th of August, 1648, the cardinal caused 
Peter Broussel, counsellor of the supreme court, to be 
arrested. This occasioned a most unexpected commotion. 
The people, highly incensed, flew immediately to arms ; 
the shops were closed ; and chains placed across the 
streets. The following morning the hall of the palace 
was filled with an immense multitude, who called out, 
^^ Broussel ! Broussel !" The parliament, to the number 
of one hundred and sixty members, left the court, and 
embodied themselves in the Palais Royal. They were 
received with the most general acclamations; and the 
barricades were removed as they passed. The first pre- 
sident had immediate access to the queen; but nothing 
was resolved upon, with respect to Broussel. 

The parliament having left the Palais Royal, without 
touching upon the release of Broussel, they no longer 
experienced their former acclamations. Whea they 



came to the Barriere des Sergents, where the first barri- 
cade was placed, there arose among the people murmurs, 
which they had the address to appease. On arriving 
at the second, murmurs were increased to menaces, 
which they also silenced, by conciliatory means. i\t the 
third barriere, which was at the Croix du Tiroir, they 
met with considerable resistance ; and, as they advanced, 
a confectioner's apprentice, followed by others, putting 
a halbert to the breast of the first president, exclaimed, 
*' Turn, traitor, and, if you will not be yourself destj-oyed,, 
bring us back Broussel, or Mazarin, and the chancellor,, 
as hostages*." 

Five presidents, a mortiei'f and above twenty counsel- 
lors, effected their escape, by throwing themselves among 
the crowd. The first president remained firm and un- 
shaken ; by this means he gave time for the remainder 
of his company to rally ; preserving, at the same time, 
the utmost magesterial dignity, both in his actions and 
liis words. He returned slowly to the Palais Royal, amid 
the execration* and blasphemies of an enraged populace. 

Such is the subject of the picture before us. An easy 
and animated composition, replete with motion, vivacity,, 
and variety of character, a striking effect, and bold- 
ness of executioH, distinguish this work ; which is justly 
regarded as the master-piece of its author. 

* See the Menooirs »f the Cardinal de Iletz-. 



This picture, painted in oil, upon slate, and of the 
natural size, by Daniel di Volterra, is in the gallery of 
the museum at Paris ; it formerly enriched the collection 
at Versailles. The slate, upon which it was executed, is 
painted on both sides. The second picture represents 
the same personages, but in a different attitude, an out- 
line of which will be given in the course of this publi- 

Daniel Ricciarelli, more known by the name of Daniel 
di Volterra, his birth-place, was born in the year 1509; 
and destined, by his parents, to the art of painting: the 
reputed pupil of Brazzi and Razzi, at Siena, and the 
assistant of Perino del Vaga, at Rome. He acquired 
the best part of his celebrity from an adherence to the 
principles and style of Michael Angelo; who afterwards 
gave him his patronage and assistance, accelerated his 
progress, enriched him with designs, and made him his 
substitute in the works of the Vatican. 

Daniel is indebted to his indefatigable assiduity, for 
his talents and his reputation. His best works are at 
Rome, at the Trinita del Monte: he there painted, in 
fresco, a Descent from the Cross. This picture is re- 


garded, not only as the chef-d'oeuvre of the artist, but 
even as one of the three master pieces of the art at 
Rome *. 

This artist was continually employed in that city, both 
in painting and in sculpture, in which he alike excelled. 
The horse, in bronze, bearing the statue of Louis XIII. 
in the place Royahy at Paris, was wrought by him at a 
single cast. It was destined to support the statue of 
Henry II. but Daniel had not time to finish the work. 
He died in I067, at the age of 57. 

The picture of David, Conqueror of Goliath, now be- 
fore us, is indifferent in point of colouring; but it pre- 
sents a commanding character and form. This work has 
erroneously been attributed to Michael Angelo. 

*The other two distinguished pictures are, the Transfiguration, by 
Raphael, and St. Jeroni, by Domenichino. These three com- 
positions liave been frequently engraved with great success. 



This statue, of the natural size, was placed over the 
tomb of Cardinal Mazarin, in the church of the college, 
des quatre Nations, at Paris, founded by that minister. 
He is represented on his knees, with one iiand upon his 
heart, and describing by the other his submission to the 
will of providence. The genius, holding atrophy, indi- 
cates the power with which he was invested during his 

On the base of the monument are three figures seated, 
of the proportion of six feet, representing Plenty, Pru- 
dence, and Fidehty. 

This tomb is entirely byjhe hand of Coysevox, and is 
regarded as one of the finest pieces of that celebrated 
sculptor. It perhaps possesses not all the boldness and 
energy observable in the monument of Richeheu, by Gir- 
ardon; but the study of nature, and the simplicity of 
idea it exhibits, lead us to think that if the taste of Coy- 
sevox had been more pure, and formed upon the antique, 
he, in the present instance, would have surpassed his 

The execution of this capital statue is bold, and of the 
utmost purity of design ; the head and the hands, espe- 
cially, are exceedingly fine, and in e\ery other part the 
labour of the chisel is complete. 

I i';il 

f}eorae,Cboke- scu 

!.rndon:lkbLU}u!. i 



Venus selects an arrow from the quiver of her son, 
Cupid, who is observed preparing his bow to receive it. 

It is in vain to seek in this figure the beauties of the 
Venus of antiquity. Its forms are tolerably well varied, 
but somewhat heavy ; if not deficient in grace, they are 
wanting in dignity, and the attitude is excessively for- 
mal. There is little to admire in this statue, except the 
labour of its execution, which is indeed perfect. For 
this species of merit the sculptors of the age of Louis 
XIV. were remarkable; which leaves us to regret, that, 
in their several works, purity of taste did not more 
frequently correspond with the ability with which they 
used the chisel. 

yripic Africamis. 



PuBLius Cornelius SciPfo, knowa by the name 
Africanus, was the son of the Consul Scipio, who lost, 
against Hannibal, the battle of Tesin. In that day the 
younger Scipio saved his father's life. Sent into Spain, 
at the age of 24, he conquered that kingdom, in 
the space of four years. Carthagena was taken in one 
day. In Africa he defeated the Carthaginian general, 
Asdrubal, and Syphax, king of Numidia. Hannibal 
having been recalled to the defence of Carthage, he was 
beaten by Scipio, at the decisive battle of Zama, not- 
withstanding his prodigious valour and the skilful dis- 
position of his troops. Tlie peace which followed the 
victory, secured the triumph of Rome. Scipio, irritated 
at the malevolence of certain citizens, jealous of his re- 
nown, passed into Asia ; where, in concert with his 
brother, he obtained several victories over Antiochus. 
Upon his return to Rome he experienced a second time 
the injustice of the people. He was formally arraigned, 
and, at first, successfully combated his accusers ; but, 
disgusted with the calumnies that were levelled against 
him, Scipio quitted his residence at Rome, and retired 
to his country house at Liternum. On leaving the city, 
he exclaimed, " Ungrateful country, thou shalt not even 
possess my bones I" He died a little time after, in the 
species of exile he had chosen, with the reputation of one 
of the most illustrious warriors of his time. 


The artist has imagined Scipio in his tent, holding in 
his hand a plan ^f the hattle, and meditating the ruin of 
Carthage, Beside an altar are the sword and helmet of 
the hero, surmounted by an elephant ; an emblem of the 
same of Africanus. 

This statue, the attitude of which is noble and simple, 
is placed in the hall of the court of the legislative body. 
It is about five feet nine inches high* 

ived by Oeoroe Ccckt 

L-ndcn.:IUhlUh£d byVem^t: Hood & Sharp f.IifultTy. Stji)f.i.i8c 8 



'' Homer, blind, traversing the cities of Greece, is 
singing his poems, and the people, in admiration, pre- 
sent him with crowns of laurel. He is supposed to rest 
upon a stone, in order to accompany his voice with his 
lyre.'' Such is the subject of the statue before us. 

The view of this sketch will demonstrate to such of our 
readers as have not beheld the original work, that the 
attitude chosen by the artist perfectly expresses his idea. 
The position of the statue is simple and natural — there is 
a degree of inspiration in the countenance. Near the 
immortal bard we observe his staff, and several of the 
crowns bestowed by the Greeks, whicli form his only 
wealth. The artist has imagined that, in the enthusiasm 
with which the poet is animated, his cloak has partly 
fallen off, and exposed his bod\\ Of this he has judi- 
ciously availed himself, and executed the naked parts 
with a degree of truth that announces a most profound 
study of nature. 

The limits of our publication will not permit any ex- 
tensive memoir on Homer. The commentaries on his 
poems, the particulars of his life, and the various opinions 
on his beauties and defects, have, in all ages, delighted 
the scholar, and augmented our stock of literature. It 


only remains for us, in a work consecrated principally to 
the fine arts, to recommend to students the constant read- 
ing of this great poet. There they will find, in the midst 
of his defects, (which are rather those of the time in which 
he lived than his own) subjects upon which all the trea- 
sures of the art may happily be unfolded. Homer, to 
this day, is, for painters as well as poets, a model of that 
refined simplicity — of that dignified but faithful imitation 
of nature — that to study him is a necessary condition to 
obtain an}^ lasting fame. 






3 lOaa DD3bfc,S=lD" fl 

A Tu"P9 N7575.H6X 
V. 4 The historic gallery of portraits